The Ninth Chime of the Seventh Hour
by QueenOfTheDreamers87
Summary: January 1996. Bellatrix Lestrange is among those broken out of Azkaban. But the Bellatrix who emerges from prison is a sprightly nineteen-year-old who fell asleep in 1970 and woke up in a cell ten days before the breakout. How will the resurrected Voldemort handle the presence of this ghost, this witch who has not yet lived all the things that mattered? COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

"Lucius. You said it was urgent."

"It is, My Lord. Quite urgent." Lucius Malfoy seemed rather anxious as he sat in the chair opposite Voldemort. A frigid rain pattered outside the office window. Lucius dragged his tongue over his bottom lip and said, "She is with Narcissa now, getting cleaned up and dressed and fed."

"Bellatrix," Voldemort clarified, and Lucius nodded.

"She's gone mad, Master."

Voldemort tipped his head. "Fourteen years in Azkaban is likely to do that to someone."

"My Lord, it's… she thinks it's 1970," Lucius said, and Voldemort scowled.

"A pity, for a mind like hers to go."

"The only thing, My Lord, is that she looks… she looks… _young_ ," Lucius pronounced carefully. Voldemort cleared his throat a little, shaking his head, but Lucius continued, "She claims she fell asleep in her bed at the Black family residence in August of 1970, and that she woke up in Azkaban ten days before the breakout. She says she screamed and cried out once she realised she was in prison. Then the Dementors came and broke her out. We explained as much as we could to her. We explained the way you… disappeared. The way she'd gone to prison for so long. We even tried to explain your new… appearance. She was incredibly confused by it all. She kept insisting I was my father. She seemed terrified. But she looks young, younger than I remember her being even when she went off to Azkaban."

"Interesting." Voldemort drummed his clawed fingernails along the edge of his desk. "Bring her to me."

"Yes, My Lord. I think she's just upstairs getting some fresh clothes. I'll bring her down."

Lucius bowed when he stood, and Nagini slithered up to Voldemort. Once Lucius had gone, Nagini hissed in Parseltongue,

" _You have missed her, Master._ "

" _It has been too long. I couldn't miss her anymore,_ " Voldemort insisted back. The snake looked as sceptical as snakes could do, and she slithered over to rest beneath a bookshelf. Voldemort sighed, running his fingernails over his bald head. She would be horrified by him, time travel or not. Thanks to snake venom, his nose was now just a set of slits in his face. He could smell very well, as it happened, but the look was disgusting. Not that he minded; in fact, he quite liked that everyone else was terrified of his new appearance. He hadn't been very handsome before the incident with the infant Harry Potter, anyway. Making so many Horcruxes had warped and melted his features.

But Bellatrix had never cared.

"Enter," he said at the sound of three knocks on his door. His voice shook far more than he would have liked. The door opened, and then Voldemort's jaw dropped.

It was her. _Her,_ Bellatrix, only she looked like she'd just left Hogwarts. Her face was almost childlike in its youth. Her eyes were bright and glittering with life. Her hair was jet black, her curls shining. She was thin and gangly, almost untouched by womanhood. His breath caught. This was not a witch who had spent fourteen years in Azkaban.

"Bellatrix," he said softly, and he watched her blink in shock.

"M-My Lord." She dipped her head and raised just her eyes to study him.

"Horrific, isn't it?" He glanced down at himself, but Bellatrix shook her head as she came into the office.

"No. If what they say is true, and you were gone for so long, then I am only glad you are safe."

He smirked and gestured for her to sit.

"You pretend not to know what happened, but I refuse to believe you've gone mad. There's one way to find out. Let me in your mind. _Legilimens._ "

She gasped as he thrust himself into her head. He searched through her memories, trying to find faint glimmers of what had come to pass between them from 1970 until she married in 1976. Nothing. He searched for memories of her trial, of her imprisonment. Nothing. Everything stopped at the end of the summer after she'd left Hogwarts. She'd been working for Voldemort since her sixth year in school, and over that summer, she'd become his full-time and closely associated soldier. But she remembered nothing past a hot night in August when she'd gone to bed, and then she'd awakened in a cell in Azkaban.

"So it is as you say," Voldemort whispered, "and you have come decades into the future through your sleep. How can this be?"

"I have no idea, My Lord," Bellatrix admitted. "When I saw Lucius, I didn't recognise him. Neither him nor Cissy. Then they told me about you. I figured it out quickly; I knew I'd come through time. But I had no Time Turner, nor any spell or potion or device… I don't know how it happened. I don't know… oh. Hello."

Nagini had slithered up to Bellatrix and was curling up her chair. The snake held her face out toward Bellatrix, hovering and studying.

" _Leave her be,_ " Voldemort hissed in Parseltongue, but Bellatrix dragged a knuckle almost affectionately over the top of Nagini's head and murmured,

"Pretty creature. Hmmm."

" _She is lovely and kind and I enjoy her_ ," Nagini hissed at Voldemort. Bellatrix smiled just a little and kept petting Nagini's head, and she noted,

"You had such an affinity for snakes, My Lord, in my time. What is she called?"

How Bellatrix knew it was a _she_ , Voldemort did not care to know. He cleared his throat a little and said,

"She's called Nagini. She quite likes you."

"She's marvelous." Bellatrix trailed her knuckles down Nagini's scales, and Voldemort's chest tightened oddly.

" _Go,_ " he commanded Nagini, and the snake hesitantly slithered away from Bellatrix. She watched the snake go, and then she turned her attention back to Voldemort.

"My Lord. I don't know what happened to the me that spent years in Azkaban. I don't care. All that matters is that I am here to serve you now, in this new war."

Voldemort dug his grey teeth into his bottom lip and decided she needed to know a little more truth.

"You don't know what happened between… erm… between you and me," he noted, and when Bellatrix seemed shocked, he clarified, "The night of your nineteenth birthday… we'd both had entirely too much to drink, and we… you know, we were together. It kept happening, with increasing frequency, until it become something of a proper affair. Only, I couldn't have you quite that close, so… I commanded you to marry Rodolphus Lestrange, which you did in 1976."

"Oh. That's why everyone keeps mentioning Rodolphus." Bellatrix stared at her lap and blinked a few times. She kept her eyes down as she asked, "Did I love him?"

"Does it matter?" Voldemort asked, and she shook her head. She was intelligent enough, even as an eighteen-year-old, to know why he would marry her off to cut off an affair. Even then, even as a warped middle-aged wizard, he'd been entirely too busy to be bothered with a young, clingy witch.

"Rodolphus and Rabastan are tired, but they certainly haven't time traveled," Voldemort said. "They'll need a few weeks to recover before being put back into service as Death Eaters. Do you know, Bella… very nearly everybody turned on me when I disappeared. They started eating themselves alive, giving up one another's names. Fleeing. Denying. But you… _you._ "

Bellatrix raised her gaze to him, and he could see that she was on the verge of tears. He shrugged a little and told her,

"They dragged you kicking and screaming from the Wizengamot whilst you shrieked at them that I would rise again."

"I would never, ever give up on the idea of you, Master," Bellatrix insisted, and again his chest hurt. He nodded.

"I know." He cleared his throat and reminded the both of them, "You're meant to be forty-five years of age. I am very old now."

"All that matters is that you get the power you deserve, My Lord," Bellatrix insisted, shoving her pretty curls away. "Perhaps I've been sent here so that I can better serve you. A forty-five-year-old me who's served fourteen years in Azkaban likely wouldn't be as much help as a younger me. Not as practised in battle, I wager, but I'll learn."

"So eager," Voldemort whispered. "You have always, always been so very eager. For everything I would give you. Any scrap of attention brought you bliss. Any touch, any kiss made you…"

He stopped then, but Bellatrix's eyes had gone wide. She didn't remember any touches or kisses. She barely remembered any battle. She had not yet lived the times they'd been physical together, nor the times she'd killed and tortured for him. She was little more than a girl, this Bellatrix who had come to him through the years.

"Do my scarlet eyes frighten you?" he asked abruptly. When Bellatrix shook her head, he scoffed and said, "I suppose I was hardly good-looking even when you knew me. Wrinkled and bent by Dark magic. But this… I am much taller, and much older, and more snake-like. Are you repulsed?"

"Quite the opposite, My Lord," Bellatrix said softly. He took a long breath through the slits of his nostrils and murmured,

"You may stay here at Malfoy Manor, in the suite of rooms I keep, until further notice. Until we've got some of this mystery sorted out. I'm sure you're not anxious to jump into bed with Rodolphus Lestrange."

"Not exactly, My Lord," she whispered, looking grateful. Voldemort nodded and said lightheartedly,

"Well, I shall do my best to keep Nagini out of your room, though it seems she's extraordinarily fond of you."

Bellatrix looked over her shoulder and smiled at the snake that held a scrap of Voldemort's soul. Bellatrix seemed drawn to Nagini, far more than any of the others were. Well, that made sense, Voldemort thought. The others had given up on him when Bellatrix had cried and screamed that her master would return. Of course she would be more magnetically attracted to his Horcrux than they all were.

"Have you any notion at all of how or why I've come here, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked suddenly, and Voldemort snapped to rights. He shook his head.

"Not yet. I'll have to do some research. Though, in my experience, meddling with time is a terribly unwise act. I'm not about to try and send you back. You're here. You're free. You'll fight for me in this time."

"I will always fight for you, Master," Bellatrix insisted, "no matter what year it is."

"So young," he whispered. He rose and walked around the desk, knowing his movements were unnaturally fluid. He wondered how Bellatrix would react to him touching her with his talon-like fingers. She didn't flinch even a little bit when he brushed her curls away from her face and said softly, "You look so very young."

"I turn nineteen next month," she reminded him, but he smirked and informed her,

"It's January. Things are more than a little thrown off, it would seem. Come on upstairs, Bella, and I'll show you your room. You must be very tired."

 **Author's Note: Woooo hoooo! New Bellamort fic! This one is going to get VERY interesting as we see substantial chunks of the story take place in 1996, 1970, and 1950, moving around every now and then as the plot carries on. This story will have quite a lot of mystery and action, as well as occasional lemons (with variously-aged Voldemort and Bellatrix), so please be advised of that. Thank you so much for reading and please do leave a quick comment.**


	2. Chapter 2

Bellatrix rifled through the trunk that Narcissa had sent up. It was strange to think of Cissy as an adult, married to Lucius, with a son to boot. Draco was a teenager now, but Bellatrix had never even known him. Narcissa had still been at Hogwarts when she'd fallen asleep. Cissy would come home on holidays raving about how in love she was with Lucius Malfoy, but Bellatrix would always roll her eyes a bit. Now she could see that the two of them had stayed in love and married, that they'd had a child together. It was almost too much for Bellatrix's mind to contemplate.

She pulled on a plain white nightgown and stared at herself in the full-length mirror, trying to imagine what fourteen years in Azkaban would have felt like. She tried to imagine herself at forty-five years of age, but she couldn't. She couldn't shift and warp her features the way age had done to Narcissa and Lucius and the others.

She was married to Rodolphus Lestrange. Apparently, she'd been married to him for twenty years. That in itself was a shock almost beyond measure. She'd hardly known Rodolphus, though perhaps that had been rather the point. It sounded like Lord Voldemort had set her up in a politically-minded marriage.

She'd missed so much. An entire war, the fall of her master, the way the others had forsaken him. She'd gone on trial with Rodolphus and Rabastan. She'd been shut in a cell for more than a decade. She'd missed it all and more. Perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing, Bellatrix thought. At least now, in this very time to which she'd come, Voldemort was alive and resurrected after taking a rebounded Killing Curse. Whether he looked snakelike or grey-skinned or red-eyed was of no consequence to Bellatrix. She was just glad he had made it through that trauma.

"Hello, Nagini." She saw the snake in the reflection of the mirror, wending up toward her and then raising her serpentine head. Bellatrix crouched down and studied the snake's eyes, her searching tongue, and she whispered,

"My, but you are pretty, aren't you?"

She felt drawn to the snake for a reason she couldn't quite identify. She pet its head and stared at it for a long moment, and then she heard a voice from behind her.

" _Sssayonath abathosss…_ "

Nagini mournfully slithered away, out of the grey and white bedroom. Bellatrix stood and insisted,

"She wasn't bothering me, My Lord. Honest."

He smirked a little and came into the room. He gestured toward the two armchairs before Bellatrix's crackling fireplace, and he moved smoothly as he sat. He moved like a wraith now, Bellatrix thought. Any human gangliness was long gone. He moved like a spectre in the night, like he was underwater. When she sat opposite him, he seemed to be studying her form. She was embarrassed for a moment, until he finally said,

"I'd almost forgotten you. Spending so much time without a body… then finding out you were in Azkaban… I forgot your voice. I did. I nearly forgot your face. But the face I left was thirty years old, not this, this… you're very young again."

"Still," she corrected gently. He frowned, which was a bit odd since he was lacking in eyebrows, but Bellatrix told him, "I am _still_ young, Master. I fell asleep young, and I woke up in Azkaban. I never lived all those years between. I'm not forty-five."

"Hmm." Voldemort raked his pointed fingernails along the chair arm and mused, "I'd hurt you with these, I think."

For a long moment, Bellatrix didn't know what he meant. Was he threatening her? Then she remembered that they'd had an affair, and she realised that he meant he would hurt her between her legs if he touched her with the talon-like nails. She gasped a little and squirmed where she sat.

"It has been more than twenty years since I touched you," he said simply, and Bellatrix stared right at his pale grey, noseless face and replied,

"For me, My Lord, it's _never_. You've never touched me."

He kept staring into the flames, and the fireplace cast an odd colour on his pallid cheek. He said thoughtfully,

"You used to quite like it when I…"

He trailed off then, his breath audible through the odd slits on his face. He shut his scarlet eyes and shook his head.

"Nevermind. Get some rest, Bella."

"What did I like?" Bellatrix was pushing him, she knew, and when he opened his eyes and glared at her, he said in a sibilant murmur,

"Don't toy with me, little girl."

"I didn't mean to," Bellatrix said honestly. "There's so much I can't remember because I haven't lived it yet. You said that you and I were close."

He scoffed and dragged a sharp nail over his bottom lip. "That is an understatement."

Bellatrix wished suddenly that she were a Legilimens just like him. She shrugged and asked,

"Did we… were we dating?"

"Dating?" he repeated, choking out a little laugh. He shook his head and looked almost like he pitied her as he said, "No. We were not _dating_. We were _fucking_ , rather regularly. Exclusively, as far as I could tell. Monogamously. But, no, Bella. I never took you to dinner."

"And then I married Rodolphus," Bellatrix nodded. She gulped and asked tentatively, "Did I have children with him?"

Voldemort curled up half his mouth and said bitterly, "I would not have allowed that. I needed you both in active service. We had a war to win. And, anyway, just because I'd cut things off with you didn't mean I was ready to hand you over into the loving embrace of another wizard. So far as I knew, your marriage was astonishingly platonic."

"Oh. I see." Bellatrix watched as Nagini slithered back into the room, climbing up onto Bellatrix's chair. She dropped her head down from the top of the chair, and Bellatrix dragged her knuckle back between the snake's eyes. She smiled a little at Voldemort and noted, "Nagini does like me, doesn't she?"

"Yes." Voldemort took a shaking breath and hissed quietly at the snake, " _Hyasssosssamith abathosss_."

Nagini seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then finally left, moving in a waving pattern on the wooden floor as she left the bedroom again and went out into the other parts of the suite. Voldemort watched her leave, and he seemed to be thinking hard about something.

"Master?" Bellatrix asked, and he snapped his pale face back to her. She fiddled with her hands in her lap and said, "You sat down and started to tell me about something I used to like. Something you'd do that I used to like. Will you please tell me what it was?"

His red eyes darkened for a moment, and his chapped lips parted as he seemed to consider whether or not to speak. Finally he shrugged and admitted,

"It's been twenty years. I could very well be remembering it wrong."

"Remembering what?" Bellatrix whispered. She was pushing him so hard, she knew, but she wanted answers. She wanted memories and truth. Finally he beckoned her toward him with one long, spindly finger. She rose and stood between his parted legs, realising that he was taller like this. She remember his face, scarred and bent, from the life she'd left behind. She remembered his body, lean and tall, but not this tall.

"Your hair," Voldemort said meaninfully. Bellatrix was self-conscious then as she gathered her curls over one shoulder and asked,

"What about it, Master?"

"You liked… when I used to touch your hair," he said. "When I would play with it a little. You always liked that. Sometimes I'd be talking to you, playing with your hair, and you'd have fallen asleep. It soothed you after battles, I think."

Suddenly Bellatrix's eyes seared like fire. They had been as close as that, that he had been lying beside her after a battle? She felt a tear worm its way from her eye, and she swiped quickly at it. Voldemort reached up and tentatively laced his fingers through her curls. She felt his skin, cool but still warm enough to feel alive. His fingers clenched a little, his nails scratching a bit at her scalp. His face shifted; he looked afraid all of a sudden.

Bellatrix was afraid, too, because she wanted nothing more right now than to kiss him, this monster he'd become.

"Why did I travel here?" she asked again, and once more he admitted,

"I don't know."

"You're right." Bellatrix tipped her head back a little and sighed as Voldemort toyed a bit with her curls. "I do like it."

"Bella." He sounded disbelieving then. He put his right hand to the small of her back and pulled at her, urging her down. She was straddling his lap in the chair before she knew what was happening. His hands both settled on her shoulders, and he said coolly,

"I used to like this. Having you on me like this."

"Oh." Bellatrix felt a lump beneath her, and when she moved, he hissed through his grey teeth.

"Yes, I have one, and yes, it works," Voldemort said with a smirk. Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot.

"I wasn't…" She wanted to tell him that she hadn't been thinking about his anatomy, but of course the question had crossed her mind.

"You should get some rest," Voldemort said, flicking his face back to stare at the fire. He felt distant and cold all of a sudden. He nodded and insisted, "You've had a difficult journey through time and space; you've spent a little time in a prison cell. You're confused. You should get some rest."

"Will you play with my hair whilst I fall asleep, My Lord?" Bellatrix dared to ask, but Voldemort stared at her with his terrifying, unreadable red eyes, and he shook his head slowly. He pushed on her shoulders and she rose, feeling overwhelmed by him. He cleared his throat, standing and holding his hands in front of the place where his erection had formed.

"Goodnight, Bella," he said, staring down at her. She nodded up at him, entranced all of a sudden. She shouldn't find him attractive, not like this, but she murmured,

"Goodnight, Master."

He reached out then and held her cheek in his hand, keeping his sharp nails away from her. He lowered his face down until she could hear the rattle of his breath. He was so close, and she realised he meant to kiss her. She tried to ready herself, but then he paused, hovering with their lips almost in contact.

And then he pulled away.

"Goodnight, Bella," he said again, turning and stalking away so quickly that his robes billowed out around him. He yanked the bedroom door shut behind him, leaving Bellatrix alone in a time that was foreign to her, feeling so alive she could hardly think.

 **Author's Note: I'm actually reeeeeeally excited to explore this completely new and different Bellamort dynamic (which is unlike anything I've ever written). I'm going out for Valentine's Day tonight, so I won't be updating until tomorrow. Thank you sooo much for reading and reviewing, and I hope you have a great V-Day!**


	3. Chapter 3

"I hope this breakfast suits you," Narcissa said cautiously, staring at Bellatrix across the little table in the breakfast nook. "You always liked your eggs done easy, didn't you? With toast for the yolk?"

"Yes. You've a keen memory, Cissy." Bella smiled a little at the woman who, just days earlier, had been a gawky teenage girl. She poked at her egg until the yolk broke and smeared all over her toast. She picked the toast up and took a bite, and as she chewed, Narcissa said in a careful tone,

"The Dark Lord says we must keep you secret for now. I think he's quite right. Severus Snape came here this morning asking to see you; he said he wanted to lay eyes on you after so many years of imprisonment. But if word got out that Bellatrix Lestrange had traveled through time, then -"

"Bellatrix Lestrange." She repeated the name and scoffed a little. "I have not lived through anything involving Rodolphus Lestrange."

"Oh. Right." Narcissa looked a little embarrassed, and then a little sad. "I suppose you don't remember my wedding to Lucius."

"How could I remember it? It hasn't happened yet for me," Bellatrix pointed out. She tried to soften her face then, seeing sorrow in Narcissa's slightly wrinkled face, and she asked, "Will you tell me about your boy? Draco?"

"He's nearly a man grown now," Narcissa said with a wistful smile. "You never knew him, not even in my memory. You knew him as a baby. You didn't like to hold him back then; you were uncomfortable round him."

"I was uncomfortable around _you_ when _you_ were a baby," Bellatrix laughed softly, and Narcissa looked so confused that Bellatrix thought she might cry. Bellatrix stuffed a few bites of sausage into her mouth and swigged her orange juice.

"Draco is very good in school," Narcissa said. "Popular with his fellow Slytherins."

"Well, of course," Bellatrix nodded. "He's yours and Lucius', isn't he?"

There was tension then, so palpable that Bellatrix gnawed her lip. She ate some more of her breakfast in silence until Narcissa asked softly,

"How did you really get her, Bella?"

"It's like I said." Bellatrix set down her orange juice and folded her hands on the table. "I fell asleep in Mummy and Daddy's house, and when I woke up, I was on cold, hard ground in Azkaban."

Narcissa shook her head and murmured, "I just can't believe it. It's so bizarre."

"Yes, well… try being in my shoes and not having a damned clue as to what's happened in the last twenty-six years," Bellatrix huffed. She stood and said, "Thanks for breakfast, Cissy. I'm going to go do a little research… see if I can't find out more about what happened to me. I'll lay low. See you."

* * *

Voldemort walked briskly through the corridors toward the Malfoy Manor library. He wasn't sure why he preferred to go barefoot these days, but he did. He liked the feel of his feet touching the ground, whether it was mud or rock or grass or carpet. He liked the way his eyes and nose were more attuned, too. But he did not much care for the way that, the night before, he'd been able to feel Harry Potter for a brief moment.

It had lasted just a few seconds, just when he had been about to kiss Bellatrix. He'd felt the boy's presence in his mind, as though he were the victim of Legilimency. He'd quickly sent Bellatrix away, his long-held lust for her melting away. But then he'd laid in his bed and thought of her, touching himself frantically as he relieved the sight and smell and feel of her young body. Her hair, her bright eyes… he wanted her again, just like he'd wanted her twenty-six years earlier. And here she was, young and new, untouched and unsullied by war and life and sex.

Voldemort walked into the library and then froze. She was in here. He could feel her.

He stalked slowly around a large wingback chair to see her with her legs tucked up, her short skirt riding up her thigh. She was buried in a thick tome about time travel. Voldemort cleared his throat gently, and she stood so fast that she dropped the book. He wandlessly guided it back into her hands and noted,

"Time travel. You're doing research."

"Trying to figure out how to get back, Master," Bellatrix informed him. "Or, at least, to figure out how it is that I got here."

"I told you," Voldemort reminded her, "Awful things happen when one meddles with time. You've arrived here through your sleep. Knowing more than that is dangerous, I think."

"And will I live in shadows forever?" Bellatrix demanded. "Must I be kept secret forever?"

"As it happens, I too came here for research," Voldemort informed her. "I was going to look into longer-lasting ageing potions. Something that would make you appear as though you were… you know, the correct age."

"Forty-five?" Bellatrix balked visibly, her mouth falling open. "No, Master. Please. I beg you."

He laughed then, harshly and maliciously. He moved to stare out the window onto the icy lawn and folded his arms over his robes.

"Forty-five years old. I was older than that the last time I saw you. Much older than that. Is it the worst thing you can imagine, to be forty-five years old?"

"But I'll be old and… and shriveled. Wrinkled. I'll have grey in my hair!" Bellatrix protested.

"I never pegged you as being so very vain, Bellatrix," Voldemort said, feeling a mixture of amusement and irritation. He sighed and told her, "If I send you back - even if I knew how - I fear the consequences. I can avoid ageing you if I explain that part of healing you from fourteen years in Azkaban involved you looking younger. People around here have become somewhat accustomed to others… changing form."

He turned around slowly then, and Bellatrix nodded. "Please don't make me look old, Master. If I'd earned the years, if I'd lived them, that would be different. But I can't…"

"You don't just look young." Voldemort was thinking out loud then. "You _are_ young."

She nodded, and he approached her. He snared his sharp fingernails through her curls and then would a kinky ringlet around his spindly finger. He sighed as he studied her young, beautiful face, and he mumbled,

"You used to like when I did this."

"I like it," Bellatrix informed him in an airy voice. She was bold then, reaching up to press her palm flat against Voldemort's chest. He sucked in air hard through the slits on his face where a proper nose ought to be, and he hissed at the snake around his feet,

" _Nagini, leave us be for a moment."_

" _Kiss her, Master,"_ Nagini hissed back in Parseltongue. Voldemort didn't answer. He moved his hand from Bellatrix's hair to her face, and he murmured,

"You used to taste like black tea and peppermint. I wonder…"

"You're the Dark Lord, and you may do as you please," she whispered up at him. "I don't know how I taste. You could find out, if you wanted."

"I remember," he told her. Then, pushing himself farther than he wanted to go, he added, "When I was without a body, I could still taste it. Black tea and peppermint. In the years after I sent you away, when you married Rodolphus Lestrange, I could still taste it."

He bent then, quickly and assertively, and he pressed his cool lips to her soft, warm ones. She gasped, her mouth opening at once. Voldemort didn't dare press his tongue into her mouth. Instead he just sucked on her lip and drank her in.

Then he moaned softly, entirely unable to held himself.

His hands were all over her, pulling her close by the small of the back, snaring his aggressive nails into her ringlets. He smashed his face more tightly against hers and breathed in.

It was _her_. Bellatrix, the witch he'd wrenched away from himself when she'd been twenty-five and far too closely associated with him. Bellatrix, the witch he'd married off to Rodolphus Lestrange because she'd started to mean entirely too much. Bellatrix, the witch who had served him since her teen years, who had spent so long languishing in Azkaban after being one of the only ones who refused to surrender the idea of him, of Lord Voldemort rising again.

Bellatrix, who was young and here and beautiful. He pulled his mouth away and stared at her in shock. She was breathless, touching her fingertips to her bottom lip, and she whispered,

"Well, My Lord?"

"Black tea and peppermint," he said firmly. Then he cleared his throat and said quite authoritatively, "I will keep you young and explain that healing you made you look like this."

He turned back toward the window, very angry at himself for having kissed her, tasted her, gone hard for her. He gulped, his throat feeling constricted, and he said,

"Go hide somewhere else, Bellatrix."

There was a long, heavy pause, and then she said from behind him, "Yes, Master."

 **Author's Note: I know I said I wasn't going to post again today, but I just had to. If you've been reading my stuff for awhile, then you know me. :-P Raise your hand if you think it's troubling that Voldemort felt Harry Potter in his mind when he was looking straight at a young Bellatrix. Raise your other hand if you think it's troubling that Severus Snape showed up the next morning demanding to see Bellatrix. Got both hands raised? Hmmm…**


	4. Chapter 4

"Snuck away from school, have you, Severus?" Voldemort glanced down and realised Nagini had left. He sighed a little; the snake had likely gone upstairs to be with Bellatrix. The two were so drawn together.

"It is past curfew, Master," Snape said as he sat opposite Voldemort.

"And your birthday, is it not?" Voldemort flashed Snape a wicked smirk. "Happy birthday."

"I do not usually mark the day, My Lord," Snape said, folding his hands in his lap. "I met with Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange when I first arrived. They look well for two wizards who spent over a decade in Azkaban."

"I am aware that you are particularly anxious to lay eyes on Bellatrix," Voldemort informed Snape. Then, mocking him, he posited, "Anxious to take news back to her enemies at Hogwarts, hm? Tell them all how wretched your old foe looks? The two of you always did fight like cats."

"Albus Dumbledore did request some information," Snape said. "He thinks that perhaps Bellatrix is dead."

"She is not dead. What would make him think that?" Voldemort snapped, suspicious all of a sudden. Severus Snape cleared his throat and said delicately,

"I think perhaps Dumbledore suspected they would have administered her the Dementor's Kiss years ago and left her body to die, Master. Owing to the serious nature of the charges against her."

"Well, she's fine," Voldemort snarled. "Better than fine. In the process of healing her up, I did have to… well, Dark magic can have unintended consequences on the appearance, as you can plainly see before you."

"Is she… erm… disfigured in some way?" Snape asked, looking abruptly concerned. Voldemort sneered and asked,

"Why do you care so much, Severus? I seem to recall having to break up a duel between you and Bellatrix. You'd be happy if she were made hideous, wouldn't you? Only, that is not the case. She is made young. Or, at least… she looks young. She looks right around eighteen or so."

"Intriguing," Snape said, raising his eyebrows. "I did not know her then. I was only a boy. Was she very pretty?"

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "She's healing. Tell Dumbledore that Bellatrix Black is better than ever."

He caught himself then, realising he'd called her _Bellatrix Black_. Not Lestrange. Black. He swallowed hard and shrugged.

"Did you come here for any reason other than to inquire after Bellatrix?"

"Yes, My Lord." Snape looked serious. "Harry Potter continues to complain that he feels your presence in his mind. There is certainly some form of connection. Dumbledore has asked me to teach the boy Occlumency, but the boy is a dismal failure."

There was silence then as realisation came over Voldemort. He shut his eyes and then took a long breath through the slits of his nose.

"You were told about Bellatrix by Dumbledore, who was told about her by Harry Potter. You already knew that she was young."

"The boy went to Dumbledore," Snape admitted. "He said he saw her through your eyes and that he could tell it was not a memory because of the colour of your hand."

"My hand." Voldemort felt anger flush through his veins then, and Snape looked anxious as he said cautiously.

"Your hand was in… in Bellatrix's hair, according to Potter."

"I will keep him out," Voldemort vowed. He shut his eyes and immediately employed every smidge of Occlumency he possessed, putting up a wall between himself and Harry Potter. He nodded at Snape and said,

"Thank you for informing me. You may go."

Snape rose and bowed his head, and as he turned to leave the office, Voldemort called after him,

"Happy birthday, Severus."

* * *

" _Hyanosss athasssosss. Nyathanosss ssayeth."_

Bellatrix sprang awake at the sound of the hissing. She watched as Nagini slithered off of her bed and made her way to the doorway. Lord Voldemort stood there, looking almost as serpentine as Nagini. He seemed abashed when Bellatrix woke up.

"I did not intend on waking you," he said without apology. "I was merely summoning Nagini back."

"She seemed very insistent upon sleeping in here. I'm sorry, Master," Bellatrix said. She blinked and looked at the clock ticking on the wall. Two o'clock. How long had she been asleep?

"I do need you to stay secret for a little longer," Voldemort said, walking slowly into the room. "There are some who are suspicious about your appearance. I do not want to feed that suspicion. You'll have to memorise the history you ought to know - everything before your stint in Azkaban."

"I'll memorise whatever you tell me, Master." Bellatrix sat up and leaned back against the leather headboard. She was surprised when Voldemort sat on the edge of the bed and sniffed a little.

"Let's start where you left off," he suggested. "Your nineteenth birthday. It was your first birthday outside Hogwarts in many years, so your parents threw an autumn garden party for you at their house. I was working with your father on finances, and you were already a Death Eater, so naturally I came. You were sour about having to participate in a silly little birthday party, so you didn't. You just stood alone and got very drunk."

Bellatrix laughed a little and asked, "What did I drink, Master?"

"Lavender Slip-Ups," he said immediately. Bellatrix coughed out a laugh and demanded,

"Lavender syrup, lemonade, and gin? I do like those."

"Yes. You liked five of them," Voldemort informed her. He was smiling just a little then, and looking down at the wand he held in his clawed hands. "I drank three or four gin and tonics, and soon enough we were… erm… just talking, you know. Much more freely than we'd done before. And then you said that you disliked your dress and wanted to change. I saw straight through you. I followed you inside… things got…"

"I understand," Bellatrix whispered, but Voldemort raised his red eyes to her and insisted,

"It was good. Very good. And I wanted more. A week later I called you through your Dark Mark to Malfoy Manor. Took you against a bookshelf in the library."

"The library?" Bellatrix breathed. "Where we were yesterday?"

"In October, you killed five Muggles for me in our first big attack meant to frighten the Ministry," Voldemort continued, looking away from Bellatrix again. "I was proud of you; you'd done very well. In November, you burned out a shop in Hogsmeade in the middle of the night. A place owned by a Mudblood. You'd begun to really fight for me."

"Well, I wish I remembered that," Bellatrix said softly, her heart racing. "Fighting for you is all I've ever really wanted to do, Master."

"I know. And you did. You did it so, so well." He turned his wand over in his hand, dragging his fingernails along it. Suddenly Bellatrix noticed something.

"You've cut your nails."

He said nothing. Bellatrix's mouth fell open. He'd mentioned hurting her with his sharp, pointed fingernails. But they weren't sharp or even long now. He'd cut them very short indeed. He sighed and pursed his lips.

"It was difficult to hold a quill and write," he insisted. "I needn't give any explanation beyond that."

"No, of course you needn't," Bellatrix murmured. Still, she found herself reminding him, "You could have anything now that you had then."

"You wanted me," he said, so harshly that his voice growled. He snapped his face up to her, and she was very frightened all of a sudden. "I was not a handsome man by then. My face had been scarred, made harsh and blunt and unappealing by the Dark Arts. But you wanted me _badly_ then, Bellatrix. It wasn't even a month after you… you said you fell asleep in August, and you wanted me badly in September."

"I want you badly now," she said honestly. Suddenly Voldemort aimed his wand at her and mumbled a spell she quickly recognised as a contraceptive charm. Her stomach churned with excitement at that, at the idea that he was about to take her body.

She shouldn't want him. Not like this. He was entirely too old now. Even if she hadn't aged, he had done so. His new body was barely human - translucent, papery skin the colour of milk, eyes like glimmering rubies, veins running along his bare head, his fingers long spindles. He was not, by anyone's definition, attractive in the physical sense. Or, at least, he shouldn't have been. But Bellatrix had been obsessed with Voldemort for years in her own time. She didn't doubt for one moment his account of her nineteenth birthday party. She would have made all sorts of moves upon him drunk. Now she was welcoming it sober, having traveled through the ages to find him again.

"Lie down, Bellatrix," she heard his voice say sternly, and she blinked a few times as she realised she'd had her eyes closed. She did as he said, staring up at him as he began to peel back the blankets.

 **Author's Note: Lemons, lemons headed right at ya! Now, to make a scene with** _ **this**_ **Voldemort genuinely sexy. Hmmm…**


	5. Chapter 5

"Take off your nightgown."

Voldemort watched as Bellatrix obeyed him, sliding the nightgown up and over her head. She carefully worked her satin knickers down over her hips and placed them beside her with the nightgown, and then she was bared to him. She covered herself on instinct, shrinking back a little and putting a skinny forearm before her breasts. Voldemort pulled her arm away, moving smoothly but not gently.

"Pretty," he whispered, staring right at her little round breasts. She'd been beautiful at twenty-five, the last time he'd had her body, but he'd almost forgotten her like this, just on the cusp of adulthood, and then he realised something. He reached out to drag his knuckles around the curve of her breast, and he noted, "You were a virgin on your nineteenth birthday."

"I am a virgin, Master," Bellatrix whispered. He watched her nipples pucker from the attention his cool, lanky fingers were giving her. He swallowed hard and said matter-of-factly,

"This is going to hurt, in that case."

He wrenched her legs apart, making her gasp with shock, and he thought perhaps he should move a little more carefully. He cleared his throat and let his hand trail down from her breast, dancing over her thigh and coming to rest between her legs. He was throbbing hard now, his new cock so much more sensitive than the one he'd had in his old body. And it had been twenty years; he hadn't touched a witch since his last dalliance with Bellatrix before her marriage. He swallowed hard and pressed the pads of his fingers to her folds.

Then he frowned, because she was very dry. He let out a dissatisfied sort of noise and informed her,

"It won't work very well if you… if your body doesn't want it."

"I'm sorry, My Lord," she mumbled. "I'm just nervous."

"Hmm." He began to pulse his right fingers on her, and with his left hand, he reached for her hair. She liked it when he touched her hair, when he played with her curls. So he did that, and soon enough she had tipped her head back a bit, her breasts heaving beautifully. Voldemort was so hard that it hurt, and he grunted quietly. He felt a rush of wetness around his fingers, as though someone had flicked a switch inside of Bellatrix. Her cheeks flushed pink, and it spread in a spider web weave down her neck and chest. She was alive now. She wanted him, just like she'd wanted him twenty-six years earlier.

"Oh," she said, a hoarse sort of disbelief in her voice. She stared at him for a moment, and suddenly Voldemort felt abjectly self-conscious. He was hideous like this, he knew. He didn't mind ordinarily; he was more intimidating than ever like this. But he had his fingers on Bella, and she was staring at him, and so he felt self-conscious.

"Please," she whispered, licking her lips and making him shiver with want. She started to feel warm and swollen around his fingers, like her body was making ready to fully receive him. He twisted his two fingers into her, tearing through her virginal resistance, and she arched her back and cried out. Voldemort pumped his fingers a few times, spread them out once or twice, and then pulled them from her. There was no blood, which made sense. She had been an obvious virgin on her nineteenth birthday, but she hadn't bled then, either. She'd bled a few years earlier, she'd told him, when she'd been playing with herself, using a thick candle to help her.

He didn't tell her now that he knew about that. She'd been drunk when she'd revealed it.

"Please," she whispered again, and on instinct, Voldemort bent down and put his lips beside her ear.

"Please what?"

"Please, Master…" Her hand was pressed to his bald scalp then, which shocked him. She wasn't repulsed at all. She was filled with a desire he hadn't thought someone could bear a form like his. She was panting. She was squirming. She was touching his head. His voice shook far too much then as he whispered her name, the syllables poetry on his lips.

"Bellatrix…"

He sat up then, for everything was feeling far too intimate. He set his mind to the task at hand, turning away a little and parting his robes, unbuttoning his linen trousers and pulling himself out. He didn't want her to see too much of him. He was embarrassingly hairless. His arms and chest and stomach were sickeningly thin. His cock was bigger than his old one had been, but it was odd-looking, with its pale grey colour and the visible veins running up the shaft. He clasped a large hand around his shaft to conceal himself the best he could, and then he quickly turned back to Bellatrix.

Keeping himself mostly concealed by his robes, he took hold of her hips and lined himself up. He avoided eye contact as he thrust into her, ignoring the way she seethed in pain through clenched teeth. He just started fucking then, as though she were practised in a way he knew she was not. He slammed his hips roughly against her, pounding her mercilessly until she started to clench at the sheets. Then he had an odd desire, and he instructed her,

"Hold onto me."

She seemed confused, her face twisted from the agonising way he was drilling her. She finally latched onto his forearms, and he gritted his teeth. He was so sensitive, even at nearly seventy years of age. This form had no real age; this form was just a shell to hold a piece of his soul. But this form was sensitive. He couldn't do anything about that, not now. He shut his eyes and felt come leaping from him in erratic jerks as his ears flushed hot and his heart raced in his chest.

"Bella," he heard himself whisper, far too affectionately. "Bella."

He pulled out of her, knowing that she hadn't derived much pleasure from the experience. He wandlessly siphoned up the mess that was leaking out of her, and he Scoured the both of them. Then he hurriedly tucked himself away and sat on the edge of the bed as he instructed her,

"Put your knickers back on."

She seemed ashamed and sore as she moved to pull on her knickers and then her nightgown. This, Voldemort thought, had been very different from when they'd been drunk at her birthday party. She'd been a mess of giggles that day. But things had changed. He'd changed, to be certain.

"I apologise if you did not enjoy that," he said cautiously, but Bellatrix shook her head a little and insisted,

"It was… nice."

He laughed then, a low chuckle, and he shook his head.

"No, it wasn't. Not for you." He couldn't stop himself then from reaching and twirling a bit of her hair round his finger. He brushed his knuckle over her cheek and told her,

"In December of 1970, you let me… or, rather, I insisted upon…"

His voice died then, for he couldn't verbalise what he was remembering. He wanted to tell her about the first time he'd put his mouth between her legs. She'd come so hard then that she hadn't been able to speak properly for ten minutes afterward. She'd liked that. She'd liked that quite a lot.

"It doesn't matter," Voldemort said out loud. Bellatrix frowned a little, and Voldemort pulled his hand away. He rose and cleared his throat again. "I didn't mean to wake you. Nagini is very fond of you."

"You needn't make her leave if she comes back," Bellatrix insisted. "I was comforted by her presence."

"Were you?" Voldemort asked tightly, and Bellatrix shrugged, wrapping her arms round herself.

"I'm not sure why."

"I know why." Voldemort glanced out toward the rest of the suite, where he knew Nagini was curled up in wait. That snake had part of his soul; of course it wanted to be near Bellatrix. He gulped and stared at the clock on the wall as he said,

"Goodnight, Bellatrix."

"Goodnight, Master." Her voice made his chest ache, just like it had ached ever since she'd shown up in this time. He hadn't felt anything like that since the night before her wedding to Rodolphus Lestrange, since the time he'd told her goodnight and had known it was forever.

He'd been wrong, apparently. She was here. He'd just rutted her like an animal, being far more distant than he'd ever been with her in his old life. But she was here, and he was new to her, and his chest hurt because of her.

He started walking toward the door, and he stopped in the threshold with a hand on each side of the door jamb. He pursed his thin lips and shut his scarlet eyes, and he said again,

"Goodnight, Bella."

He glanced over his shoulder to see her smiling weakly at him. She wrung her hands in her lap and nodded.

"Goodnight, My Lord."

 **Author's Note: So Bellatrix is secret for now, but what happens when Rodolphus and the others find out the truth about her? And what will Dumbledore do with the information Snape brings him? As always, thank you so much for reading and please do leave a review if you get a moment.**


	6. Chapter 6

"Bella?"

She sprang up from her chair, whirling around from the book she was reading about creative hexing. She aimed her wand at the sound of her name, for the voice was unfamiliar. A greying wizard stood in the threshold of the library, his hands in the air in surrender. His eyes were wide, and he breathed,

"So it's true. You're… you're..."

"Rodolphus," Bellatrix whispered, lowering her wand. She walked toward him, toward the man she'd apparently been married to for twenty years. Not knowing what else to do, she tucked her wand away and said awkwardly, "Good to see you."

"Is it true, what Lucius said?" Rodolphus demanded, and Bellatrix scowled. She smelled firewhisky on Rodolphus.

"What did Lucius say?" she demanded, and Rodolphus studied Bellatrix's face and body in a way that made her feel uncomfortable.

"Lucius said," Rodolphus began, "that you had fallen asleep in 1970 and woken up in Azkaban just a few days before the Dementors freed us. Snape came by and asked to see you. He seemed curious. Is this all true, Bella? Did you… did you fall asleep as a teenager and wake up in your cell?"

"I'm not meant to discuss it," Bellatrix said awkwardly. Rodolphus narrowed his eyes at her and seized her face in his hands. Bellatrix squealed and took a step backward, and she shoved Rodolphus' chest so hard that he staggered.

"Don't touch me!" she snarled, and a look of realisation came over Rodolphus' face.

"You don't know me," he said in awe. "Bella… before we went to Azkaban, I loved you. I was… we were _married_ , you and I. We did everything together. Everything."

Bellatrix shook her head and insisted, "I have no way of remembering things that haven't happened to me yet. I don't know you, no. I'm sorry."

"So am I," Rodolphus said, looking distraught. He blinked a few times and tears welled in his blue eyes, and he mumbled, "Every day in Azkaban, I dreamed of seeing you again. Every day, I called out for you. Sometimes you would answer me. One day, you stopped answering. Then we got freed, and -"

"Wait. Our cells were adjacent?" Bellatrix demanded, and Rodolphus scowled at her.

"Yes," he said aggressively. "You were just on the other side of a stone wall from me. Our windows opened right outside. If I shouted loudly enough, you could hear me and shout back. But a few months ago, I stopped getting answers. I was afraid you were dead, or that they'd administered the Kiss to you. You never answered me again."

"A few _months_ ago?" Bellatrix was shocked. Rodolphus sank his teeth into his lip and demanded,

"Why does this matter? You're a bloody teenager! That's what's bizarre here."

"I have to go," Bellatrix said, pushing past him out the library door. "Sorry, Rodolphus. I have to go. I'm glad… erm… glad you're doing well. Sorry I don't remember much."

He seemed perplexed as she rushed down the corridor, past some gossiping portraits, and down a winding staircase in the corner. Her bare feet pattered on the carpet until she reached the door that she knew led to the Dark Lord's office. She rapped her knuckles quickly on the door and waited in breathless anticipation. The door swung slowly open, and Bellatrix leaped into the room with dancing steps to see Lord Voldemort sitting at his desk, apparently consumed by the contents of a letter before him.

"Yes?" he prompted, raking his spindly fingers over his bald, veiny head. Bellatrix waited for him to look up, and she said,

"My Lord, Rodolphus Lestrange just told me that he used to call out for me, screaming from his cell to mine. He says that I used to answer. But a few months ago, I stopped answering."

Voldemort looked aghast for a moment, and then he said quietly, "A few months ago. So you disappeared. You vanished."

"It would seem so, Master," Bellatrix said, twisting her fingers together. She gulped and said, "My other body… my forty-five-year-old self… left. Went somewhere. I thought you ought to know that, My Lord."

"Yes. Thank you for telling me," Voldemort said tightly. He set down the letter he'd been reading and prompted her, "What else did Rodolphus say to you?"

Bellatrix hesitated. "He said that… that he'd loved me. That we used to do everything together, he and I."

"Mmm-hmm." Voldemort flicked his eyes out at the flurries that had begun to fall. He sniffed a little and said, "I do think that he fell very much in love with you after I had you marry him. You didn't ever love him back. I could tell."

Bellatrix was silent. She had no idea what to say to that. Voldemort seemed so cold, so angry about something Bellatrix couldn't pin down. She inhaled and opened her mouth to speak, but the words died on her lips, and he asked her,

"Is there anything else?"

She considered asking him whether she would get to serve him again like she'd apparently done before. She wanted to ask him if she'd get to take out Muggles and enemies for him like she'd done in the life he remembered. She craved that idea - being a soldier for him. But she just shook her head and said,

"No, Master. Nothing else."

* * *

Voldemort stared at the ceiling where he lay in bed, wearing nothing but black flannel trousers. He knew she was awake. He could feel her mind pulsing just on the other side of the wall. Why he was still letting her stay here, he wasn't sure. He should get her a flat, or make her stay in a different suite. For some reason, he didn't much like that idea. In any case, he couldn't sleep with the feel of her thoughts poking in, and he didn't have the strength to block her presence out. Not whilst he was so actively blocking out Harry Potter.

So Voldemort rose from his bed, pulling a heavy black velvet robe on and cinching it tightly round his waist. He hissed in Parseltongue for Nagini to stay in his bed. He walked with bare feet from his bedroom into his sitting room, and then through the little dining nook that was sunny in the day time. He came to Bellatrix's bedroom and thought perhaps he ought to knock. But he was her lord and master, and he didn't need permission to enter a room in his own suite. He took his time with the door lever, thinking that at least he'd give her a moment to escape into the bathroom if she was indecent.

When he opened the door, she was sitting up in her bed with a wall sconce lit. She had a book propped up on her legs - _Hellacious Hexes for a Curious Mind_.

"Planning on hexing someone?" he asked bluntly, and Bellatrix shut the book as he stepped inside.

"I just want to be prepared, Master," she told him. "If you ever decide to put me into your service, then I want to be ready to serve you properly."

He smirked a little and said, "The Tetraplegus Hex. You used to use it all the time in battle. It would render someone paralysed in all four limbs. Only temporary, but it didn't drain your energy the way a major Curse would, and it always gave you time to get the enemy's wand away. You were quite clever with the Tetraplegus Hex."

Bellatrix frowned and looked down at the book. "I haven't found that one yet."

"No. I taught it to you. It isn't in any book, because I invented it." Voldemort studied her face as she reacted. She blinked a few times and nodded, looking very impressed. He picked up wand off the side table, put it in her hand, and drew a snaking set of concentric squares in the air, his fingers wrapped around hers.

"Keep the corners of the squares tight and crisp," he informed her. "The incantation is _Tetraplegus._ "

"Thank you." Bellatrix lowered her wand and then stared at Voldemort's hand. For some reason, he didn't take his fingers away. Instead, on instinct, he started to rub her there, to caress her hand with his, and some odd impulse made him say,

"I lied to you."

Bellatrix said nothing in response to that. He raised his eyes and shrugged, keeping his voice impassive as he said,

"You asked if you and I had ever dated, and I answered that it had been sexual. Nothing else. But the truth is… I did have dinner alone with you, many times. We never went out; it wasn't a date. It was always private. And the last time… the very last time… was the night before you married Rodolphus Lestrange."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and she shook her head as she insisted,

"I never would have wanted him."

"No. You didn't want him then, either," Voldemort confirmed. "You fought me tooth and nail on it. Ultimately, I ordered you to marry him, and you did, because you were always very obedient. But you cried harder that night - the night before your wedding - than I'd ever seen you cry. And that degree of emotion is precisely why I insisted you marry."

Bellatrix sniffed a bit, her hand shaking under his fingers. She let go of her wand and laced her tiny fingers through his long, grey ones, and she asked,

"Were you there, My Lord? At my wedding?"

"No," he answered at once. "No. I couldn't… I didn't want to go, so I didn't go."

"I see." Bellatrix brushed her thumb over Voldemort's, which made him shiver. He wasn't hard; he didn't want sex right now. This was strangely pleasant, sitting with her and holding her hand. It was oddly satisfying. He stared right at her, knowing his crimson eyes were horrifying to see, and he told her,

"You'll be in my service soon. We're in a new war, and I want you fighting."

"And the other part?" Bellatrix asked tentatively. "What happened last night…"

Fucking, she meant. She was asking if they were going to be physical the way they'd been in Voldemort's past, in her future. He squeezed a little at her hand and then forced himself to release it.

"We were both wounded by it all," he said. "You can't remember, because you haven't lived it yet. But it's the only time in my life that I felt real grief… that night before your wedding. I have absolutely no desire to relive any of it. What happened last night was a mistake. It won't happen again."

Bellatrix seemed befuddled by that, but she finally nodded and murmured,

"I understand, Master."

But he didn't want her to understand that. He let out a breath that shook entirely too much, and he impulsively climbed up onto the bed beside her. He sat up against the leather headboard and said firmly,

"Put your book aside and lie on my lap."

She did, moving quickly to follow his orders. Obedient like always, he thought. His breath caught in his chest as she arranged herself so that she was lying back across his thighs, her hair cascading around her and her wide eyes staring up at him.

"You used to like doing this," he informed her, his voice distant to his own ears. "You used to fall asleep like this."

He twirled her hair around his finger and then let it go, brushing his nails up along her scalp. She shut her eyes and asked him softly,

"How many times did I fall asleep with you?"

No _Master._ No _My Lord_. She'd forgotten sometimes, in his past, when she'd been comfortable with him. He swallowed hard and answered her,

"It was only now and then at first. Then it became… frequent. Too frequent."

"So you made me marry Rodolphus," Bellatrix suggested, and Voldemort tightened his hand in her hair as he whispered,

"Yes. So I made you marry Rodolphus."

"And did it work?" Bellatrix asked. He studied her face and waited, and she finally clarified, "Did it work, sending me away? Did it help you win the war?"

"I lost the war," Voldemort reminded her. "No. It did not help. Try to get some sleep, Bella."

He tipped his head back against the headboard and shut his eyes, twining his fingers in Bellatrix's curls until he heard her breath grow slow and deep.

 **Author's Note: Oh, wow… a teensy hint of fluff. Haha. Well, things definitely can't stay peaceful forever, especially not in THIS Bellamort. We're about to see Bellatrix thrust into service for her master. Mwah hahahaha. Thank you for reading and a HUGE thank you for the feedback as I explore this Bellamort dynamic.**


	7. Chapter 7

Bellatrix blinked her eyes open to see the face of a snake.

Nagini. She smiled a little and pet the snake's head, whispering,

"Where's your master gone?"

Nagini lowered her head and nudged at a little scrap of parchment. Bellatrix frowned and picked it up, seeing neat handwriting upon it.

 _Dinner. Tonight at eight. Downstairs._

Bellatrix's heart thumped in her chest, and she raised her eyes to Nagini. She stared right into the snake's dark, mysterious eye, and she wondered aloud,

"Is he fond of me, d'you think? I wish he were. I'm awfully fond of him."

The rest of the day passed interminably. Bellatrix found herself staring out a window in the library for over an hour, watching frigid rain fall outside. Finally she decided she was going to walk outside, despite the cold. She headed down the main staircase in a heavy waterproofed cloak, and she heard from behind her,

"Bella? Where are you going?"

"Rodolphus." Bellatrix turned round and sighed. "What are you doing here?"

He scowled. "I'm here getting orders from the Dark Lord. Training myself again so I can serve him. Fourteen years in Azkaban makes one a bit rusty with a wand, you know."

"Need some help practising?" Bellatrix asked, and Rodolphus cocked up an eyebrow.

"You're going to duel me?"

"To help you practise," she repeated, and Rodolphus smirked and nodded. He walked outside with Bellatrix, and then he said,

"You're really lovely like this. Young. I do feel a bit odd, having a wife who's so much younger than me."

"I'm not your wife," Bellatrix said firmly. When Rodolphus looked angry, she clarified, "I'm not even nineteen; I'm not married. I haven't lived through our wedding or our marriage."

"But we did get married," Rodolphus told her as they stepped out into the gardens. The waterproofed cloak did little good against the freezing rain, and Bellatrix shivered as she insisted,

"No. You married me after I left my time. The forty-five-year-old me vanished months ago. You and I - this me - we were never married. I'm sorry, Rodolphus, but I'm not your wife."

He seemed far more excited about duelling her at that. Rodolphus looked irritated as he took his place on the sopping dead grass, and he bowed perfunctorily. Bellatrix mimicked the motion and then held her wand up.

" _Ducklifors!_ " Rodolphus cried, slashing his wand downward. There was a flash of yellow light, but Bellatrix quickly blocked the spell and scowled.

"Trying to turn me into a damned duck, Rodolphus? Really. _Ebublio._ "

Rodolphus looked shocked as a large bubble of water formed from the falling rain, encompassing him entirely. He thrashed against the water and then went still for a moment, and Bellatrix was mildly concerned he might drown. Then she saw a blast of orange, fiery light and realised he'd cast a Blasting Curse from inside the bubble. It burst at once, sending water cascading all around him. He was completely drenched then as he aimed his wand at Bellatrix, but she made a careful mark of winding squares with sharp corners and incanted,

" _Tetraplegus!_ "

Rodolphus collapsed at once, his limbs giving out on him. Bellatrix watched him drop his wand, and she cried,

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

The wand came soaring at her, whizzing through the air, and she caught it deftly with her left hand. She watched as her Tetraplegus Hex started to wear off, as Rodolphus very slowly and clumsily made his way onto his knees.

"Ah… yes…" he panted, sounding desperate for air. "Your old favourite. I should have known."

Bellatrix shut her eyes tightly. This was all so much to take in. Voldemort and Rodolphus both had vivid memories of her using a spell she'd only learnt the night before. She shook her head a little and aimed her wand at him.

" _Finite Incantatem._ "

Rodolphus stood more quickly then, and Bellatrix approached him, holding his wand out.

"Fair to say you won that duel, I suppose," he told her, shivering like mad as he took his wand. "I think I'll head home. You probably don't know where that is."

"Castle Lestrange, I reckon." Bellatrix had grown up in the Pureblood world. She at least knew where the families lived. Rodolphus shook his head and frowned.

"No. Rabastan has the castle. You and I lived in a townhouse in London. A pretty place… nice and airy."

"I wouldn't know," Bellatrix reminded him, and he tightened his lips.

"No. You wouldn't know. Thanks for the practise, Bella."

She watched him make his way out of the gardens and through the gate, where he Disapparated. Then there was movement in a window, and Bellatrix snapped her face up to see Voldemort staring out of his office onto the grounds below. When she caught his scarlet eyes, he nodded once and turned away. Bellatrix pushed her soaked hair from her eyes and turned to walk inside, thinking that perhaps she ought to make herself look decent for dinner.

* * *

Bellatrix was exceedingly anxious as she headed down the winding stairs in the corner of the manor. Nagini followed close behind; she'd stayed near Bellatrix as she'd put Sleekeazy's in her hair and carefully applied mascara and lipstick. She'd put on a black gown with flowing, pleated silk skirts - a treasure she'd found in the trunk Narcissa had provided for her. It had been a bit too long, so she'd hemmed it carefully with her wand. Narcissa was a few inches taller.

Bellatrix carefully approached the dining room. This was what he'd meant by 'downstairs,' surely? Perhaps the Malfoys would be there. Or perhaps they'd already eaten. Bellatrix gulped and stepped into the room, and Voldemort rose slowly from the chair where he was sitting. His red eyes flashed wildly as they panned up and down her form, and he said softly,

"You certainly dressed to the nines. Sit."

Bellatrix did, feeling rather far away from him, even just across the width of the table. She unfolded her napkin and put it on her lap, and she cleared her throat as roasted beets with goat cheese and greens appeared before her. She sipped a little at her white wine and waited for Voldemort to take the first bite. After he did, Bellatrix smiled a little and told him,

"I quite like beetroot."

"I know," Voldemort said simply. Bellatrix couldn't keep her eyes from burning then. She studied his hands as he ate. They were so long and pale, so odd, almost alien in their form. But she remembered the feel of him touching her hair and scalp, of him massaging her breast and touching her between her legs…

She finished her first course and set her fork down. Both her food and Voldemort's disappeared, and he informed her,

"The new House-Elf here… he's a fair cook."

"Yes, it does seem so, Master," Bellatrix agreed.

"I saw you duelling Rodolphus," Voldemort said tightly, sipping from his wine. Bellatrix nodded.

"Yes. You were watching."

"You used the Tetraplegus Hex," he noted, "as well as a few other quite clever spells. You're ready for combat. He is not."

"Well, he's spent fourteen years in prison, My Lord," Bellatrix said, "with all due respect."

"And you're a teenager," he said sharply. "Neither of you should be ready, but you are. You're ready. I have a job for you."

"Is that why you asked me to dinner, Master?" Bellatrix wondered, and he gave her a serious look as he reminded her,

"I did not _ask_ you to dinner. I instructed you on a place and time to be. There's a difference. And, no, it isn't why we're having dinner together. Do you want to serve me or not, Bellatrix?"

She ignored the way roasted goat and potatoes had appeared on her plate, and she insisted,

"I do want to serve you, Master. More than anything anyone's ever wanted."

"So eager." Voldemort smiled a little as he dragged the pad of his middle finger around the rim of his wine glass. "You have always been lovely in your eagerness, Bella."

That made her breath catch. She finally managed to whisper, "How may I serve you, My Lord?"

"Do you remember… I told you what your first work for me was," Voldemort said, cutting a bite of roasted goat. He chewed it and sipped from his wine, and Bellatrix nodded.

"You said that I killed Muggles for you, to instill fear in the Ministry."

"Well, it's time for a little more fear." Voldemort put a roast potato in his mouth, swallowed it, and said, "There's a Mudblood called Barney Plattley. He has a Muggle wife and an adult son, a Squib. They live in Lancashire. I want you to take the trio out and cast my Mark in the sky."

Bellatrix smiled as her main course disappeared and was replaced by a honey and pine nut tart. She grinned at Voldemort and asked him,

"When will I kill them, Master?"

"Next week," he said. "Do you suppose you can do it?"

"Of course I can!" she cried indignantly. Voldemort smirked and ate a bite of his tart.

"Of course you can," he said quietly. Bellatrix scarfed down three bites of tart inelegantly and made a noise of immense satisfaction at the taste of the dessert. Voldemort seemed to be watching her quite closely, and he asked,

"You like the tart, do you?"

"Mmm-hmm," Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort gave her a knowing look and informed her,

"It was served at a party once and you were practically moaning over it. After that, I had it for you whenever I could."

Bellatrix froze. She swallowed the bite in her mouth and washed it down with a swig of white wine. She set the glass down and said firmly,

"I will kill the Mudblood and his useless family for you. I would kill a hundred thousand Muggles for you. I would burn every forest, flatten every town. I will cast your Mark in the sky over and over. I will never stop until it's all yours, until they've all prostrated themselves to you."

Voldemort nodded and sipped slowly from his wine. "My eager little creature."

 _His_ eager little creature. Bellatrix blinked. He seemed unaffected as he set his wine down and told her,

"We had dinner in this room dozens of times. Just you and I. And I always let you choose the menu."

"Did I choose beetroot, roasted goat, and honey tart?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort dragged his finger over the rim of his glass again.

"Sometimes," he said, his voice far more gentle than anything she'd heard from him. He breathed slowly through the slits on his face and then said, "Sometimes you chose fennel salad and seared scallops. One time, I told you I didn't feel much like seafood, so you requested my own favourite. Pork shoulder. But we always, always had the honey and pine nut tart. It was… tasting it again is rather nostalgic, I'll admit."

He finished his glass of wine and pushed it away.

"I missed you," he said plainly, and Bellatrix felt her lips part. She wasn't sure what to say to that. Before she could speak, he told her, "You can't have missed me, because you hardly knew me before you fell asleep. And the me you knew was different, I know. But I missed you, Bellatrix. Sometimes, I'd be floating along without a body, wandering for a year in a forest without ever hearing a real voice, and the only thing tethering me to a shred of human existence was the memory of you."

Bellatrix pushed her chair back and rose, walking slowly around the table. She approached Voldemort and stood beside his chair. He stared at his empty plate, and she examined the veins of his pale grey, bald head. Her fingers trembled terribly as she reached out and curled her fingers around his shoulder. She stroked him a little there and watched him shut his eyes, and she whispered,

"Thank you for dinner, Master."

He said nothing. She dragged her knuckles up his neck and back down again, all the way over his shoulder and down his arm. She covered his hand with hers on the table and turned her face up to his. He was so close, his lips pale and trembling, looking like she'd cracked him a bit. He smelled like the ocean, sharp and fresh and cold, but his eyes burned like fire. Bellatrix moved a little closer to him and dared to whisper,

"I want you to possess me the way you did in your memories."

He looked shocked then, but Bellatrix nodded and repeated,

"Possess me again, Master. Just like you remember doing."

He blinked and murmured, "Let's go upstairs, Miss Black."

 **Author's Note: Awwwww, they had a special dessert that was** _ **theirs**_ **. And Rodolphus is just plain unlikable in this storyverse, no? Raise your hand if you're ready for Voldemort to…** _ **possess**_ **Bellatrix. Mwah hahaha.**


	8. Chapter 8

Everything was faster tonight.

The way he'd practically ripped Bellatrix's gown off of her, the way he'd torn her knickers off in a way that had tripped her… the way he'd shoved Bellatrix roughly onto the bed and then positioned himself above her, crushing her mouth with his and not caring all of a sudden what either of them looked like.

She tasted like honey tart and wine, and Voldemort found himself groaning into her mouth as his cock flushed hard beneath his robes. He snatched one tiny, fragile wrist in his enormous hand, then the other, and he slammed them up above her head. Bellatrix moaned loudly against his cool lips, and he shoved his tongue against hers in response.

"Bella." He wrenched his mouth away and ground his hips hard onto hers. Her eyes were blazing black as she stared up at him, and he demanded, "Do you feel how hard you make me? Hmm? Even at this age, with this new form, you make me this hard. _Feel it._ "

"I… I feel it." Bellatrix tipped her head back and arched up her back a little. Her breasts looked so inviting then that Voldemort couldn't help himself, not even a little bit. He dove down and sucked a breast into his mouth, taking as much of it as he could. She cried out, whether in pain or pleasure, it was not clear. He suckled hard on her nipple, drawing it between his teeth and listening to her shriek. She squirmed beneath his hands, so he pinned her hip down with his free hand and sucked harder than ever.

"You _will_ come for me tonight," he informed her then, letting her hands and hip go. He climbed up onto the bed and shoved her roughly against the pillows. Bellatrix gasped as he wrenched her thighs apart and put his fingers to her womanhood. He immediately twisted two, and then three, fingers inside of her. Bellatrix's face was starting to shine and she was utterly breathless as she clutched at the sheets. Voldemort pumped his fingers and used his thumb on her, drawing deep circles that made her grind her hips against his hand. Soon enough, her cries of pain shifted into low moans of pleasure.

Voldemort didn't care then that his voice was entirely too kind as he put his lips beside her ear, moved his fingers on her, and whispered,

"Beautiful little creature. Hmm."

He kissed her cheek and listened to her frantic breath beside his deformed face as he kept up the motion with his hand. He remembered what she liked. He remembered the way she liked when he hooked his fingers just a little and pushed hard on her clit with his thumb. He flicked it a few times, and that was it. She lost herself, tumbling over the invisible cliff with a gasp. Her cheek grew hot beneath Voldemort's as her walls clenched around his fingers. He groaned quietly and moved his mouth to hers, kissing her through her bliss and soaking in the feel of her climax. Before she could recover, and without taking his mouth from hers, Voldemort reached down and unbuttoned his linen trousers beneath his robes. He pulled his cock out and pressed it against Bellatrix's entrance.

He thought about flipping her over and taking her roughly from behind, but he didn't want to stop kissing her. He thought about making her ride him, but he wanted to be atop her. So he stuck with the dull, predictable position, which felt remarkably satisfying tonight, and he slid inside of her. Bellatrix reached up then, holding his cheeks in her hands and letting out a delicious little sound.

 _In and out, in and out._ Their breath synchronised along with his long, smooth strokes. He pumped himself deeply into her, savoured it for a moment, enjoying the tight warmth, and then pulled back out. _In and out, in and out._ She stroked at his cold cheeks, at his grey skin, and she did not seem remotely repulsed. She didn't seem troubled by the way the slits of his flat nose were so near her face, nor the way his eyes were red when he finally pulled back for air.

"I missed you," he whispered, knowing he'd already told her that at dinner. He kept pumping his hips, enjoying the feel of her hands on his cheeks. Bellatrix nodded up at him and whispered,

"Let's start over, Master. From the beginning of what… what happened between us. All right?"

"Hmm." Voldemort bent to kiss her again then, burrowing deeply inside of her as his own easy climax washed over him. He shut his eyes and stilled his lips and tongue as his come filled her. He had a moment of panic as he hissed, "Tell me you cast a contraceptive charm on yourself."

"I did, My Lord," Bellatrix affirmed. "Before dinner. Just in case."

"Clever little creature." Voldemort let himself slip out of her, his head still throbbing with satisfaction as he rolled onto his back beside her. He wordlessly tucked his softened cock away, and as he buttoned himself up, Bellatrix seemed to instinctively move closer to him. He didn't complain when she put her head carefully onto his chest. He just played with her hair and whispered,

"Starting from the beginning, eh? Yes. You'll take out that Mudblood for me, and his worthless wife and son. You'll be my soldier again, and I'll have you here in my bed. Just like…"

"Just like before," Bellatrix said, smiling up at him a little. But he now felt compelled to be truthful about certain things. He pulled her leg across him, not minding the way that his seed was leaking out between her thighs.

"I lied to you back then. Often. I told you the same lie over and over."

Bellatrix frowned in confusion but said nothing. He gulped, trying to work past the knot in his throat, and he confessed,

"I told you… countless times… that I had many witches. I didn't want you to feel special. So I would tell you about a lanky blonde who had slept on the pillow beside me, or a redhead I'd had dinner with. I taunted you with them, with the spectres of other witches. I wanted you desperate, and I wanted you close, but I didn't want you to feel special."

Bellatrix looked like she was on the verge of tears. She moved to lie on her side and bravely cupped Voldemort's jagged jaw in her hand.

"And how many were there, really?" she asked. "How many blondes and redheads? How many others did you really have, Master?"

"None." Voldemort shook his head and told her, "Before your nineteenth birthday, I hadn't taken a witch in twenty years. Now it's been twenty years again. Those years with you… they were anomalous in my life, you see, and… and there was never anyone else. I told you here that we were monogamous, you and I, and as far as I knew, we were. But I lied to you back then and told you otherwise, because I needed to control you without you feeling…"

"Special," Bellatrix finished for him. She brushed her knuckles along his cheek, and Voldemort shivered. He said something then that he never would have said in his old life.

"But you _were_ special. You still are."

"Oh." Bellatrix did cry then, a tear worming its way from her eye and dribbling down the bridge of her nose. Voldemort used his thumb to take it away, and he assured her,

"I do want to start over with you, Bella. But this time… I do not intend on making you cry on purpose. I see no use in that anymore. Not now that you and I are both detached from the realities we knew. Not during this war. Not now that this… I know this is likely my last chance, so I mean to take hold of it."

He didn't tell her about his Horcruxes, about how he feared them getting destroyed. He didn't tell her that he was actively blocking out Harry Potter, that he had some doubts about Severus Snape's loyalty. He'd already told her that he'd spent years thinking he'd never have a body again, that he had remembered her every time he needed to remind himself of his humanity. So now he just stared at her and informed her,

"You were always special, whether I allowed you to know it or not."

Bellatrix blinked through her tears and stroked at his face again. She was so near his red eyes, his grey lips, the slits of his nose. She did not seem to mind at all. She stared right at him and whispered,

"I don't need to be special, My Lord. Any attention at all from you is more than enough."

"I knew that, and I took advantage of that," he said, "but it didn't win me the last war, and it won't win me this one. No one else will sleep beside me or eat dinners alone with me. No one else did, and no one else will. Make of that information whatever you will. Let's go to sleep."

Bellatrix nodded and shut her eyes, and Voldemort settled back against his own pillow. With her beside him, warm and smelling wonderful, he quickly drifted off to sleep. He might have let his mental guard down for a moment or two, for he felt another mind in his at one point, thinking about Bellatrix being beside him. Was it Potter? Voldemort reinforced his Occlumency shields and went back to sleep.

But after a few hours, he woke again, having dreamed vividly about Bellatrix dying in battle. He woke with a soft gasp, scowling as he looked at Bellatrix sleeping peacefully beside him. Nagini was curled up at Bellatrix's feet now, and she raised her head and hissed,

" _You worry over her._ "

Voldemort kept the scowl on his face and quietly hissed back, " _I am not anxious to lose her again. That's all._ "

" _I do not want to lose her, either._ " Nagini slithered up along Bellatrix's back and told him, " _I feel her in every bone of mine. I feel her in my blood. She warms me. She calms me. I do not want her to go away._ "

" _I mean to keep her,_ " Voldemort assured Nagini. The snake curled around Bellatrix's shoulder, and Voldemort almost hissed at her to stop, that she'd wake Bellatrix. But Bellatrix hummed softly in her sleep, as though she were comforted. Nagini raised her face to Voldemort and spoke in Parseltongue,

" _I quite like her._ "

" _So do I,_ " Voldemort answered simply, lying back down and shutting his eyes, ensuring his Occlumency was shielding his mind from the Potter boy before he fell back asleep.

 **Author's Note: He doesn't want to lose her. He wants to keep her. So, naturally, something terrible is bound to happen, right? Uh-oh.**


	9. Chapter 9

Bellatrix blinked her eyes open, expecting to see Nagini and her master beside her. After all, she'd fallen asleep curled up with them. But she didn't see them; instead, she saw the familiar blue wallpaper of her bedroom at her parents' house.

"What?" Bellatrix whispered. She sat up quickly and dashed over to the window, which was opened to let in fresh air. It was a warm morning, and the lawn outside was vibrantly green.

It felt like lates summer. Somehow, Bellatrix was very sure, it was late in the summer of 1970. She'd come back in time again.

She rushed to dress in a flowing black skirt and a wispy black blouse, binding her small waist with a wide belt. She scrubbed her teeth and Scoured her body clean, and she ran down the stairs.

"Bella?" her mother called from the sitting-room. "Care for breakfast?"

"No, Mum; I have to go." Bellatrix Disapparated from the foyer with a loud _crack_ , coming to outside the front door of Malfoy Manor. She lifted the heavy knocker and slammed it three times, and she drummed her foot on the top step as she waited for the door to open. When it did, the little House-Elf Dobby was there, and he asked meekly,

"May I help you, Miss?"

"Dobby," Bellatrix said impatiently, "Tell me what day it is."

"Why, it is the first of September, Miss," Dobby said. "The first of September in the year nineteen seventy."

"So I thought." Bellatrix shut her eyes and gulped, whispering a plea that her master would know her. "Dobby, is the Dark Lord here?"

"He is in his office, Miss," Dobby said. "I can take you there, and you may try to see him, but he did seem in rather a… difficult mood, Miss."

Bellatrix's stomach twisted as she followed Dobby inside. Was Voldemort in a poor mood because he had woken up here like she had? Perhaps he'd fallen asleep with her in Malfoy Manor and woken up without her, and that was why he was in a 'difficult mood.'

They reached Voldemort's office, and Bellatrix shooed Dobby away. She cleared her throat and her mind and raised her hand, rapping her knuckles on the door.

"Enter," snapped the voice from inside. Bellatrix opened the door carefully, and then she froze.

It was the old him… or, rather, the younger him. He was neither young nor handsome. He was in his forties, Bellatrix knew, and his features had already been severely marled by Dark magic. His thin lips were twisted into a snarl, and his nose looked like it had been broken four or five times. One of his lower eyelids drooped a bit, and his eyebrows were sparse and uneven. His hair was almost entirely grey and quite thin, and his face was sallow and sagging. But he wasn't the grey monster Bellatrix had encountered in the 1990s.

He wouldn't know, she realised. He wouldn't know that they had started over, the two of them. This was the man who had lied to her, told her there were other witches just to keep her from getting too close. She shut the door behind her as he asked,

"What do you need, Miss Black?"

His voice was so harsh, so cold and unfeeling, and Bellatrix's eyes welled at once. Hadn't she kissed him and fallen asleep naked with him the night before? She tried to think of a good reason to be here, and she decided that the truth was as good a reason as any other. She pointed to a chair opposite him and asked,

"May I sit, Master?"

He cocked up an eyebrow. "Mmm-hmm."

Bellatrix sat, and she sighed as she told him, "I think, My Lord, that this will be a very difficult thing to explain. I wonder if you might just look into my mind."

Voldemort frowned deeply and narrowed his eyes, studying Bellatrix's face. Then he aimed his pale wand at her and murmured,

" _Legilimens._ "

* * *

"You haven't seen her at all?" Voldemort tried to keep his voice steady. Narcissa looked terrified where she stood beside Lucius in his office.

"N-No, My Lord," Narcissa insisted. "The last I saw of her, she was duelling Rodolphus Lestrange in the gardens."

"That was _days_ ago," Voldemort seethed. He snapped his eyes to Lucius. "You. Have you seen her?"

"No, Master. I have not." Lucius looked very frightened, and Voldemort snarled like an animal. He slashed his wand through the air, sending books tumbling off of the shelves onto the floor. Narcissa startled, and Voldemort growled,

"Find her. Get every boot on the ground for this. Find Bellatrix."

"Yes, Master." Lucius bowed his head, and Narcissa followed him quickly from the office. Once the door was shut. Voldemort slashed his wand again, this time ripping a whole bookshelf down and sending it clattering to the floor.

" _Go to her, Master,_ " hissed Nagini from the floor beside him, and Voldemort scowled down at the snake.

" _How am I meant to do that?"_ he demanded in Parseltongue. " _I have no idea how to conduct that sort of time travel._ "

" _You remember the mantle clock from Borgin and Burkes,"_ Nagini hissed. " _It never sold because no one was willing to try it."_

" _It was a hoax,"_ Voldemort insisted, curling up his lip. " _No mantle clock could…"_

He stopped then, realising the implications of what it would mean if he were actually able to get his hands on the object, if it actually worked. When he'd been young and had worked at Borgin and Burkes, there had been a mantle clock that had already been on the shelves for thirty years. Reputedly, it had been used to travel hundreds of years backward and forward, but the user had so radically altered reality that he'd been sentenced to life in Azkaban. The clock was being sold with the caveat that its rumoured time travel abilities couldn't be proven and that long-distance time travel was both dangerous and illegal.

But if he could get back to 1970, he could accomplish two important things. He could stop himself from making the same mistakes that had led to his first downfall - the times Dumbledore had outsmarted him, the way he'd interpreted and acted on the prophecy - and he could rise to power without ever vanishing into the wisp he'd been for years.

And he could be with Bellatrix, whom he seriously suspected had awakened back in her parents' home. When he'd found the spot beside him in bed empty, he'd known. She'd gone back to her time, and he could chase her there. He could be successful there. He could be with her there. If only the mantle clock's powers were real, it could all be his.

He practically tore the sheet of parchment that he whipped out, and he quickly dipped a quill in ink before he wrote,

 _Dear Mr Borgin,_

 _I am in search of a particular artefact that was in your shop's inventory decades ago. I wonder if you still have it…_

 **Author's Note: Apologies for the short length of this chapter, but I was dying to get this transition to the next part of the story up! Will the clock work? If so, will the "old" Voldemort disappear, or will there be a "two of you in the same place at the same time" problem like with a Time Turner? Will Voldemort be able to keep himself from being defeated in 1981? Hmm… I'm excited for these next few chapters, lemme tell ya! :) Thank you for reading, and a MASSIVE thanks for all the feedback so far on this story. I really appreciate it.**


	10. Chapter 10

"Bella? Bellatrix." Druella Black's voice was worried as she walked into Bellatrix's bedroom. "You have to come out sometime."

"No, I don't." Bellatrix stared out the window at a leaf that was about to rip from its twig. She watched it detach and flutter down to the ground as her mother noted,

"It's been eighteen days of this, Bellatrix. You've scarcely eaten anything. You're as sombre as if someone had died. Should I send for a Healer, Bella?"

"No." Bellatrix pressed her hand to the glass and shut her eyes. When she'd explained everything to Lord Voldemort, he had insisted (as his older self would do) that knowing too much about time travel was dangerous and inadvisable. He'd sent her to her parents' house and told her not to contact him. In fact, though, no one had seen or heard from Lord Voldemort in two weeks. Bellatrix was panicking now, wondering if something awful had happened to him because she'd come back.

She gasped, for there was a bright pain on her left arm. She wrenched her sleeve back to see that her Dark Mark had flushed black, and she laughed a little.

"I have to go, Mummy!" she exclaimed, stepping into the centre of her bedroom. Druella look perplexed, but before she could say anything, Bellatrix Disapparated. She came to in the gardens of Malfoy Manor, and there were pops all around her as other Death Eaters appeared. Suddenly Bellatrix caught sight of Rodolphus Lestrange, looking just as young as she did. He didn't spare her a glance. He didn't know yet that he would be matched with Bellatrix, that the two of them would spend over a decade in Azkaban.

Suddenly Bellatrix froze and looked around. They didn't know. None of them knew. None of them were aware that in just over a decade, their master would be taken down by a rebounded Killing Curse, that he would vanish and most of these people would turn on him. None of them knew what was coming. Should she warn them all? Should she stand here and scream at the top of her lungs about it? No, Bellatrix knew. That was for the Dark Lord to decide.

She walked with the crowd inside, going mostly ignored by the others. She was young, fresh out of Hogwarts, and they were almost all wizards, anyway. She was just a little girl to them. Bellatrix remembered how Voldemort had told her that she'd become a ferocious interrogator, a killer, and as she looked around, she wondered if any of the others knew what she would be capable of doing.

She followed the group into the meeting-room and took a seat beside Abraxas Malfoy, who had apparently died of dragon pox in the early 1990s. He hadn't been there in 1996, when Lucius and Narcissa had been in charge of this manor. Bellatrix flashed him a tiny smile and then anxiously rolled her crooked wand back and forth on the table. Finally a hush came over the room, for the double doors at the end had opened.

"Master!" Bellatrix flew to her feet when she saw him. His grey face, the slits where his nose ought to have been, his scarlet eyes and his bald head. The others might have thought she was horrified, but she grinned at him, and he smirked just a little as he seemed to realise they both knew the same things. He had come here, too. When? Bellatrix slowly sat back down and shook with excitement, receiving just as many confused stares as Voldemort himself did.

He calmly pulled out a chair, sat down, and folded his hands on the table.

"I have been gone from you for two weeks. It was longer than intended. My apologies for those who tried to reach me. Now. Let us dispense with the elephant in the room, which is, of course, my appearance."

A ripple of anxiety worked its way around the table. Voldemort waited for everything to go still and quiet again, and then he said in a low, menacing tone,

"I have performed Dark magic the likes of which none of you can imagine. This face, and this skin, and these bones and these eyes… this is the price for such Darkness. But my power is more fierce than ever. Is there anyone present who objects to my new looks? Anyone would abandon my because of the colour of my eyes or the shape of my nose? Hm? Anyone?"

Not one hand went up.

"Good," Voldemort nodded. "Good. Loyalty is a good thing. Nott and Avery… did you speak with Florean Fortescue?"  
"We did, Master," Avery said nervously. "He says that Dumbledore was there with Gideon Prewett just before the start of the Hogwarts term, but he didn't overhear what they were discussing."

"A pity, but not anything that you could have helped." Voldemort sighed, taking his time surveying the table. He was getting to know everyone again, Bellatrix thought. He was establishing for them and for himself that he belonged here. His eyes settled on Bellatrix for a moment, and he finally said to her, "Bella, come to my office when we're through here."

"Yes, Master," she whispered. Voldemort cracked his neck a little. Bellatrix looked around for Nagini, but did not see her. She wondered if the snake had been left behind in 1996. That seemed a bit sad, for some reason. She tuned out as Voldemort discussed more espionage at the Ministry with Rookwood. Finally she heard him say,

"I shall require a few days' peace and quiet. My work has been enormously taxing. Contact me if there is an emergency. Dismissed."

Bellatrix watched as Abraxas Malfoy approached Voldemort, and his red eyes followed her as she left the meeting-room. She quickly made her way down the corridor to his office, waiting anxiously outside the door. When at last he approached her, it took everything she had not to run right at him. Instead, she waited whilst he silently unwarded the office, let her in, and then shut and locked the door behind them.

"Come sit." He moved to an armchair before the dark fireplace, and Bellatrix shook as she sat opposite him.

"You've come," she breathed. "You came back. How?"

He raised his eyes to the mantle, where Bellatrix saw a strange-looking clock. It had three faces - one that seemed to read hours and minutes, and another that had a circle of 365 days. The third face had years on it. Bellatrix realised it was some sort of time travel device.

"I first saw it a very long time ago in Borgin and Burkes," Voldemort informed her. "No one believed it would work, so no one bought it. And, anyway, time travel over great distances is very dangerous and very -"

"Illegal," Bellatrix finished for him. He nodded. She looked around again and asked,

"Nagini?"

"I couldn't figure how to bring her with me," Voldemort admitted. "I needed to get to you. I came close… nearly three weeks, it would seem, since the last time you met with me in this era? I left myself a note… a note on the desk. I found it when I got here. My younger self, it would seem, has used some sort of means to stay out of the way. I didn't explain it to myself, which is probably for th best. Somehow, I knew myself well enough to know I'd come back, that I'd chase you. I just don't know how long I'll be able to stay. Playing with time like this… it's inadvisable at best and can be catastrophic at worst. Know that I may disappear at any time."

"No." Bellatrix shook her head wildly. "No, Master. You'll do things differently this time. You won't let that awful little Potter boy strike you down. You'll defeat them all. You will _win_ , because now you have information. Now you know everything you need to know to reign over Britain as the greatest wizard who has ever lived."

She was trembling ferociously after that, and Voldemort reached for her hands. She was surprised by the gentleness in his scarlet eyes as he squeezed her fingers a little and nodded.

"I'm going to try," he said. "I mean to do better this time. In every respect. I mean to win battles I lost, to eliminate enemies I let slip through my fingers. I mean to take out James and Lily Potter whilst they're still school children, so they can never have their little monster, Harry. And I mean not to lie to you. I mean to make it very clear to you… here, in this time… that it is only you."

Bellatrix was breathless then. She looked down at her hands, at the way his fingers were carefully rubbing hers. She shut her eyes for a moment and whispered,

"I just want to fight for you."

"And you will," he assured her. "You'll be a marvelous soldier for me. And when you fall asleep with your belly full of honey tart, with my fingers tangled in your curls, you will know… you will know that it is only you."

She remembered then what he'd said, that the memory of her had kept him tethered to his humanity during his years without a body. Had she meant that much to him? She raised her eyes and saw a level of emotion from him she would never have expected.

"Thank goodness," he whispered, "for second chances."

Bellatrix just nodded. She couldn't do much of anything else. Finally Voldemort released her hands, sat up in his chair, and curled up half his mouth.

"Your birthday party is in three days' time," he reminded her. "I expect you to get remarkably drunk."

 **Author's Note: Awwww. He chased her through time! Well, if that ain't romantic, I dunno what is. Now for that birthday party… mwah hahaha.**


	11. Chapter 11

"Bellatrix. I'm very concerned by how much you're drinking and how little you're socialising." Irma Black snapped her hands onto her narrow hips where she stood before Bellatrix. "You've had four of those things."

"Five, Gran," Bellatrix corrected, sipping off the last of her Lavender Slip-Up. She still hadn't seen Lord Voldemort. "I've no… erm… interest, you know, in the people here. Mum and Dad put the whole thing together."

"And you are profoundly ungrateful," Irma hissed. She looked around and demanded, "Weren't any of these young people your school friends?"

"I didn't really… didn't have _friends_ ," Bellatrix told her grandmother. "Nobody much liked me."

She put her empty glass on a tray carried by a passing House-Elf, and Irma scoffed.

"I wonder why nobody liked you, if you were as unbearably sour as this. Well. Happy birthday, Bellatrix. Drunk and alone as you are."

"Who says she's alone?" asked a smooth voice. Bellatrix looked up with dizzy, drunk eyes to see Lord Voldemort standing before her, holding out another Lavender Slip-Up. "Brought you a drink."

"With all due respect, sir, I think she's had more than enough," Irma Black hissed, but Voldemort shot her a lethal look and said quietly,

"I think she's old enough to decide for herself, Madam. How's your husband?"

Irma's cheeks went pink as Bellatrix gratefully accepted the drink from Voldemort's outstretched hand.

"Pollux is… he said for me to tell you he'll contribute whatever funds and time you require, sir." Irma studied Voldemort's grey, misshapen form, and she looked at her granddaughter for a brief moment.

"I'm glad to hear that. Enjoy the party, Madam Black." Voldemort sipped at his own drink, and it was obvious that he'd had more than a few. Irma Black huffed and nodded, walking quickly away.

"Thank you for rescuing me from her, Master," Bellatrix drawled. She sipped the lavender lemonade and gin, and Voldemort asked,

"How many is that?"

"Five," she replied. "N-no. Wait. Six."

He made an amused little sound, and when he finished his own drink, he put it on the tray of a passing elf. He reached into the pocket of his robes then and pulled something out.

"Sorry I didn't box it up," he said. "I'd love to have an excuse other than 'I couldn't be bothered.' In any case… Happy birthday, Bella."

"A gift?" she breathed, feeling dizzy from the drink and astonishment as she took the golden chain and pendant. It looked like a locket, but when she opened the ornately carved lid, it revealed a traditional clock face. Bellatrix put the long chain round her neck and grinned. "Thank you, Master!"

"Mr Borgin says it came into his shop ten years ago, sold to him by a vampire who claimed it had once belonged to Carmilla Sanguina. There's no way to prove that, of course. I just thought it was rather pretty, and… well, you know… the clock theme felt rather appropriate."

Bellatrix held the pendant in her hand and opened the lid again. She stared with bleary eyes at the hands and Roman numerals, and she asked carefully,

"Master… the first time round… did you give me a gift?" She raised her gaze to him, and he tightened his pale lips.

"No," he said. "I never gave you gifts. I thought it would make you clingy, make you believe certain things about… about what was happening."

Bellatrix's eyes seared like fire, and she pushed the lid of the watch pendant shut with her thumb.

"Why didn't you stay there?" she whispered, not wanting anyone else on the lawn to hear them. Voldemort said nothing, and he shifted a little where he stood as though he were nervous. Bellatrix pressed, "Why didn't you just declare me missing and stay there, in that time?"

"That did not feel like an option," he replied crisply. "You're drunk, or you wouldn't push me on this."

"You're right. I am drunk," she said, "and it is my birthday, and I would like to change my dress."

His scarlet eyes flashed a little, and he jerked his head toward the house. "Shall we go inside, then, Miss Black?"

"Yes, My Lord," she replied firmly. "We shall."

* * *

The last time they'd been physical together, everything had been fast and aggressive. The first time, he hadn't even cared whether she'd felt pleasure.

It was very different this time.

They were both steeped in liquor, heads swimming and words coming mumbled and slurred. His breath was uneven against her mouth as he pushed her gently toward her childhood bed. Bellatrix stood beside it and felt his long fingers pull down the zip of the black silk dress. He was wordless as he peeled it forward off her shoulders. Bellatrix stepped out of it once it fell to her ankles, and then she let him unclasp her bra and push down her knickers. Soon enough, she was naked except for the clock pendant he'd bought her. She started to unclasp his robes, but he quickly covered her hands with his and shook his head.

"No," he said firmly. Bellatrix frowned, but he said almost soothingly, "Some other time. I am not yet prepared for that."

"Oh." Bellatrix was too drunk to say anything else. "All right, My Lord."

"Come sit with me over here." He moved to her wide, dark brown leather chair beside her bookshelf, and when he sat, he pulled her down. She squealed with delight at the feel of him beneath her, at the way she was eye-to-eye with him. She put a knee on either side of his hips and ground down against the erection forming beneath her. Voldemort's hand pawed rather roughly at her breast, and she collapsed forward against him.

He kissed her neck, which shocked her. His lips and tongue started massaging her there, and Bellatrix gasped with want and satisfaction. She reached between them and unbuttoned as swiftly as she could. She felt the jab of his wand against her belly, and then warmth spreading there as he murmured a contraceptive incantation against the skin of her neck. Bellatrix hummed and impulsively kissed his cool, bald scalp. She used her hands to pull him from his linen trousers, and she felt the room spin.

"Why did you chase me back here?" she asked again. "Why didn't you just stay in that time?"

"Because I _wanted_ you, Bellatrix," he growled, and she yelped as he nibbled harder at the sensitive skin of her neck. He pulled back and stared right at her as he guided her body up atop his cock. As she sank down, she threw her head back and seethed through clenched teeth. She began to rock on instinct, far more enthusiastically than she normally would have dreamed of doing. Up and down, back and forth she moved, his hands sliding up from her bare hips to her stomach, up to her breasts. He squeezed hard there, so hard that it hurt, but it felt beyond delicious.

"I came here," Voldemort wheezed, sounding a bit out of control of himself, "because somehow it seemed more palatable to Vanish into the ether trying to chase you… than staying there alone."

"But you've been alone for… so long…" Bellatrix protested, threading her arms around Voldemort's bony shoulders as she felt everything tightening inside of her.

"Are you calling me old, Bella?" Voldemort snarled, and she was taken aback by the playfulness in his low voice. His hands pressed to her bare back, and she mumbled,

"I'm going to come. Oh. I'm going to… mmph."

"Yes," she heard him whisper. She stilled her hips and burrowed her face into the crook of his neck. She breathed in and smelled the ocean on him, wind whipping over salt air. She breathed him in as she came, her hands frantically clutching at the robes he hadn't allowed her to remove. She felt herself clenching around him, her veins going hot and her breath shaking. She was very aware then that Voldemort was finishing inside of her, for she felt his seed leaking back out of her as he huffed beside her face. She pulled back a little and kissed him, feeling so much more brazen with him than she'd ever done.

He was so old, a back corner of her mind thought. She was young, and he was _old_. But this body of his seemed, if nothing else, almost ageless, barely human. He tasted cold; he smelled like ocean air. But when she pulled back from him, staring into his crimson eyes, she realised she was utterly in awe of him. She worshipped him. She adored him.

"You came back to me," she whispered, and she dared to put her hands on either side of his face. He lowered his gaze from her, reaching between them to tuck his flaccid cock away. He mumbled a few spells to clean Bellatrix up, and he insisted,

"Your grandmother was right; you've been entirely antisocial for the entire party. You're not too drunk to do… _this_ … so surely you can thank your guests for coming."

She giggled then at his unintended innuendo. When he smirked at her, shaking his head, she kissed his cool cheek and joked,

"Thank you for coming, Master."

"Get dressed, Bella," he ordered her, and his voice was so very nearly warm that Bellatrix obeyed him without hesitation. She needed assistance, stumbling with intoxication as she was, and he helped her wriggle back into her knickers and dress. He took her by the hand and led her out of her bedroom and down the stairs, and before they went outside, he released her hand and paused for a moment.

"You came back to me, My Lord," she said again, her words a blur. Voldemort nodded, his face serious, and he told her,

"I had no choice whatsoever in the matter, Bella. Not that I could see. Now go outside and thank your guests for attending your party."

She wrapped her fingers around her clock pendant and nodded. "Yes, Master."

 **Author's Note: Awwww. He brought her a present. And he didn't think he had a choice about coming. That's Bellamort fluff for ya. If you're reading, I would *love* to know your thoughts on this particular Bellamort take.**


	12. Chapter 12

"I need to be certain I can make payments as rewards," Voldemort was saying to Cygnus Black III, who nodded vigorously and affirmed,

"Yes, My Lord. Your coffers are full. Of course, all of your accounts at Gringotts are being held under my name, so that they can be easily accessed without you having to enter the bank."

"Yes," Voldemort said, "and you do understand, don't you, the consequences of betraying me when it comes to finances?"

Cygnus gulped and nodded. He'd been at school with Voldemort, but he'd been too young to be a meaningful part of Voldemort's gang. It hadn't been until years later, when he'd gone to the Continent and then returned, that Cygnus Black had been allowed into the inner circle.

"Now it's _you_ who doesn't know _me._ That's rich."

Voldemort snapped his head to the side at the sound of Bellatrix's loud voice.

"Pardon me, Master, but it seems my eldest daughter is being a bit of a… well." Cygnus stormed over toward Bellatrix, who was shouting at a very befuddled-looking Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Miss Black," Rodolphus said carefully, "I think perhaps that you -"

" _Miss Black_ ," Bellatrix repeated, her voice taunting. "You try to turn me into a duck in a duel, tell me all about us living in a nice, airy townhouse, and now I'm _Miss Black_?"

Rodolphus looked shocked. Druella Black stepped up to Bellatrix and took hold of her wrist.

"Bella, dear. Go inside and get some water," Druella said, but Bellatrix wrenched her wrist away roughly. She staggered backward, and by then Voldemort was standing close to her. He took a half step and caught her in his arm, and when she tried to whirl around, he steadied her shoulders.

"Bella," he said, so quietly that he was sure no one else could hear, "You're saying dangerous things. Come with me."

"Yes, Master," she whispered, and he realised then that not all of her drinks had settled into her veins when he'd taken her up to her room. She was fully drunk now, with all the alcohol she'd consumed sweeping through her system. Voldemort stared straight into her glassy eyes and murmured,

"Apologise to Rodolphus."

"I'm sorry, Rodolphus," Bellatrix mumbled at once. Voldemort looked up and found Cygnus' eyes. The other wizard seemed very confused when Voldemort informed him,

"I'll take her for the night. Thank you for the party, Cygnus."

"M-My Lord?" Cygnus' voice was meek as Voldemort turned away with Bellatrix. He led her by her hand to a quiet spot near a tree, and he shook his head as he said,

"It was very foolish of me to encourage you to drink. You know too many things now for that sort of intoxication. I apologise for egging you on. Let's go. Malfoy Manor."

He Disapparated without another word, and when they arrived at Malfoy Manor, he decided she was entirely too drunk to walk on her own. He Lightened her, though she weighed hardly anything at all, and he scooped her wordlessly into her arms.

"I made a fool of myself," Bellatrix mumbled as Voldemort walked briskly up the main stairs of the manor. He said nothing, and she moaned and dug her fists in to her eyes. "I embarrassed myself. Poor Rodolphus."

"He'll be fine," Voldemort snapped. He carried Bellatrix up a winding staircase in the corner of the manor, up two flights until he was breathless and dizzy. He paused at the top of the stairs and informed Bellatrix,

"My suite in this time has only one bedroom. We'll share tonight."

"I'm so sorry," Bellatrix was saying, and Voldemort huffed in frustration as he carried her toward his suite.

"I want an attack on some Muggles from you sooner rather than later," he told her sharply. "Get something planned and carried out. Make me proud."

"Yes, Master," she answered morosely. He wandlessly opened the door to his suite then and carried her inside, and he set her down on the ground in his bedroom.

"Take that dress off," he commanded her, opening his wardrobe.

"Are you going to fuck me again?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort whirled over his shoulder to see her stripping off her party dress. She stumbled stepping out of it, and Voldemort snarled,

"No, I am not going to… Bella. Leave your knickers on. Here. Wear this."

He pulled out a pair of grey flannel trousers and a grey shirt, and he handed them to Bellatrix. Once she'd struggled into them, he brushed his wand in a V shape over the trousers, then the shirt, and he murmured,

" _Diminuendo_ … _Diminuendo_."

His pyjamas, which were far too large for her, shrank considerably until they looked reasonable on her. He started to strip off his own robes, suddenly not caring that she was seeing him bared. He peeled off his outer robe and then his inner tunic. He flicked them up into his wardrobe, and he heard Bellatrix gasp quietly from behind him.

"Yes. I know. You can see all my vertebrae, my spine practically poking out from my silver skin. I know. It's hideous."

"It's not," Bellatrix drawled, and Voldemort rolled his eyes a little. He pulled on a long black sleeping tunic and some knee-length linen underwear, and he shut his wardrobe. He led Bellatrix over to the bed and helped her up, and then she slid over to make room for him. He lay back against the pillows and urged her up against him. It wasn't nearly late enough yet for sleeping, but here they were in bed.

"I ruined it," Bellatrix said quietly from beside him. "I took the birthday party where you and I first -"

"Those memories aren't real anymore," Voldemort reminded her. "The only birthday party that's _real_ is the one that happened today."

"Do you suppose Rodolphus suspects something?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort scoffed.

"He suspected that you were very drunk, which you were." He pulled her onto his lap, arranging her so that she was facing his torso.

"Your cock is right here." Bellatrix dragged her fingers over the crotch of his pyjama trousers, and he laughed softly.

"You're still very drunk," he said, "and I already had you once today. It's your birthday. End it happily. Just go to sleep."

"May I ask you something, Master?" Bellatrix asked. He watched her play with the watch pendant around her neck. "Did you bring this necklace with you through time?"

"No," he said simply. "I bought it two days ago."

"Why?" Bellatrix pressed. Voldemort sighed and laced his fingers through her hair. He rubbed at her scalp, and she breathed a long sigh of happiness at the feel. Then she repeated, "Why, My Lord? Why did you buy it?"

"It didn't feel right coming to your birthday party without a gift," he said, and she looked up at him.

"But you said that you never gave me gifts before."

"That _before_ never happened," he growled, squeezing at her hair a bit. "1996 has not yet happened. All there is is here, Bella. All there is is now. You… you needed a birthday gift, so I bought one. Go to sleep."

"I'm not tired, Master," Bellatrix protested. Suddenly he found himself irritated with her drunken, brazen self, and he snatched his wand from the table beside the bed.

" _Somnolus_ ," he barked, aiming his wand at Bellatrix's head. She was asleep at once, and Voldemort slammed his wand back down as he said in a lethally calm voice, "Happy birthday, Bellatrix."

* * *

Bellatrix stood under a tree on a dismal, rainy street in Havering. It was pouring so hard that she knew she wouldn't be able to set the fires she'd planned. She'd have to do better than that.

 _Don't cast the Dark Mark this time_ , Lord Voldemort had told her. _We aren't ready to confess to what we do._

Bellatrix aimed her wand at the row of houses before her. The Muggles would think this was a gas leak. Magical personnel would know better.

" _Confringo!_ " Bellatrix screamed. A massive Blasting Curse shot from her wand and made one of the rickety brick houses explode. There were immediate screams. Bellatrix hurried down the row of houses, knowing she had only seconds before someone realised it was her making this happen. She peeked out from the thick trunk of the tree and cried again, " _Confringo! Confringo! CONFRINGO!_ "

One after another, the Blasting Curses hit the row of houses. The bangs of the explosions were almost deafening. The screams and the sounds of bricks hitting the road made Bellatrix cackle with glee. She looked around the tree and saw blood, a broken water main spraying straight up into the air, piles of bricks, a toppled chimney.

"Perfect," Bellatrix whispered, and she Disapparated hard to her right. When she came to outside Malfoy Manor, she flung the doors open with her wand and went running inside, past the confused House-Elf and up the main staircase.

"He's not in his office, Miss!" called Dobby from behind her. "The Dark Lord is in the library upstairs!"

"Thanks, Dobby," Bellatrix mumbled, her feet pattering on the staircase as she ran up higher and higher. She was soaking wet, which she only now realised. She sprinted down the corridor toward the library, and when she reached it, she put a hand on either side of the threshold and cried, "Master!"

He turned round from the window, where he stood reading a book. He shut it and set it down, and he smirked a little.

"I take it from your look of unmitigated bliss that you were successful."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix rushed toward him and pressed her hands to the front of his robes. "I blew up their houses. Left them screaming in the streets. I did just as you commanded me. Please, Master… tell me you're proud."

"Oh, yes, Bella," Voldemort said, taking Bellatrix's cheeks in his hands. "I am very proud of you."

Then he kissed her, so hard that Bellatrix squealed, and she let herself get lost beneath his cold hands.

 **Author's Note: Oh, Lord Voldemort, rescuing Bellatrix from embarrassment and perhaps worse with Rodolphus… putting her to sleep when she asks too much about her gift… being proud of her for blowing up Muggles' houses. :} Sorry for updating so much in one day. I can't tell you how much I appreciate the feedback given how quickly I've been posting chapters. I promise I'm going to bed now! Haha.**


	13. Chapter 13

"Oh. Hello, Mr Bulstrode."

"Miss Black." Daemon Bulstrode rather nervously tightened his hands around the bouquet of white lilies he'd brought with him to the Black house. Bellatrix frowned a bit and told him,

"My father's not at home, I'm afraid. Neither's my mother. Can I take a message for you?"

Daemon Bulstrode cleared his throat and gave a nervous little smile. "I'm actually here to speak with _you_ , Miss Black. Your father knew I was coming."

Bellatrix's stomach flopped. She blinked a few times, wondering why on Earth Lord Voldemort hadn't told her about this. She gulped and forced a little smile, stepping aside so Daemon could enter.

"Do come in," she said, feigning warmth. When they were in the foyer, she barked out, "Dippy! Make tea!"

Then she guided Daemon into her parents' sitting room, and she sat stiffly on a sofa opposite an antique chair where Daemon sat. He thrust out the lilies and said,

"These… these are for you."

"Oh. Thank you." Bellatrix took the flowers and stared at them for a moment. When the House-Elf, Dippy, came in with a tray of tea, Bellatrix shoved the lilies at her and ordered her, "Get these into water."

"Yes, Miss Bellatrix." Dippy waddled away quickly, and Bellatrix poured herself a cup of tea. She swigged at it, burning her throat, and set the cup down.

"How's Violet?" she asked, for Daemon's daughter had been a year ahead of her in school. Daemon gave Bellatrix an awkward sort of expression and then said,

"She's well. She's working in Diagon Alley, at Madam Malkin's. She's happy there. Has her own flat above the shop."

"She always seemed very independent," Bellatrix said. Daemon Bulstrode was a widower, she knew. His wife had died when Violet was young; she'd been a member of the esteemed Greengrass family and had died of some awful hereditary condition that seemed to have thus far spared Violet. Bellatrix stared right at Daemon and asked frankly,

"Are you here to court me, Mr Bulstrode?"

He seemed shocked by how frank she was. He just nodded quickly and said,

"I have had difficulty, since my beloved Belle died, in finding a suitable witch for myself. I realise there is an age difference, but… well, I find you to be very alluring, Bellatrix. I think you are clever and pretty, and I would allow you all manner of freedom."

"Oh, how very generous of you," Bellatrix said, feeling disgusted. She shut her eyes and shook her head a little. "I don't think the Dark Lord wants me married. I'm meant to be a soldier for him."

"I thought most of the Death Eaters were married." Daemon frowned, and Bellatrix huffed out a breath.

"Mr Bulstrode. I'm sure you're a wonderfully kind wizard, but I can't… I simply couldn't…"

"I understand." He set down his own teacup and rose, and Bellatrix flew to her feet. Daemon shook his head and said self-consciously, "I ought to have known better. Your father suggested that you might be amenable to the idea, but -"

"My father doesn't know me very well." Bellatrix felt irritated now, thinking about men discussing her without her permission. She pinched her lips and told Daemon, "I promise you that if I change my mind, I shall write to you."

He smiled a little then and nodded. "That would be wonderful. I hope you have a very pleasant afternoon, Miss Black."

"Dippy!" Bellatrix called, and the House-Elf appeared with a snap of magic. Bellatrix glanced down to the elf and said, "Show Mr Bulstrode out. Nice seeing you, Mr Bulstrode."

* * *

"Enter."

Voldemort scowled up at the office door, which had been the victim of extremely insistent knocking. The door flew open, and Bellatrix came bursting breathlessly inside, practically slamming the door shut behind her. She rushed into the office and stood with her arms crossed over her chest, looking more agitated and angry than Voldemort could recall her being. He raised his bare brows and noted calmly,

"You seem as though something's upset you."

Bellatrix seethed for a moment, then stared at the floor as she snapped, "With all due respect, My Lord, may I ask why it is that you did not see fit to inform me that I would be courted?"

Voldemort blinked. "Courted."

She raised her eyes to him and scowled. "You never told me that Daemon Bulstrode was going to show up to my house clutching a bunch of lilies."

Voldemort felt cold all of a sudden. "That's because I didn't know of any such thing. Daemon Bulstrode? He was a Ravenclaw when I was in school. Doesn't he have a daughter your age?"

"A year older!" Bellatrix shrieked, throwing her hands up. "He had my father's permission to be there! I didn't believe him, but when my father got home, I asked, and… he and my parents met to plan this whole thing! My parents want me to marry him!"

Voldemort shut his eyes and rubbed his knuckles along his forehead. "Well. Daemon Bulstrode probably wants your father's money, and your father wants you to have a reliable, established husband."

Bellatrix looked appalled. "You didn't know about this, Master? It didn't happen… in your memories of this time?"

"No, I don't think so," Voldemort replied. He gulped hard then, feeling abruptly nauseated at the idea of some other wizard handing Bellatrix flowers. He coughed a little and shook his head. "I'll speak with your father. I'll sort it out."

"You won't make me marry him, will you?" Bellatrix's voice shook, and Voldemort flashed her an angry glare.

"No. Of course not."

"Forgive my presumption, Master; it's only that… well, you made me marry Rodolphus the last time you lived these years." She knitted her fingers together before her, and Voldemort dragged his teeth along his lip.

"That was different," he informed her. "I was in over my head with you, and Rodolphus was the way out."

Bellatrix seemed a little confused. "So what about this time? Why isn't Daemon Bulstrode your way out?"

"I don't want a way out," Voldemort said, and he left it at that. Bellatrix was silent for a heavy second, and then she nodded.

"I see."

"I told you I'd sort it, and I will. Sit down. I have something to show you." Voldemort waited for Bellatrix to obey, and then he picked up a folded newspaper. He handed her the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and watched her eyes light up at the headline.

 _MUGGLE CATASTROPHE RAISES FEARS OF DARK MAGIC_.

The front-page story detailed how three Muggles had been killed and eleven injured in a massive event that had monopolised the Muggle news cycle. The disaster had been blamed on a gas leak, but the evidence for such an explanation was spotty at best. Aurors had preliminarily determined that the explosions were consistent with the use of Blasting Curses. They had no way of identifying the responsible party, but disagreements within the Ministry had deepened over the catastrophe. Bellatrix smiled as she handed the newspaper back to Voldemort, and she asked softly,

"Have I made you proud, Master?"

"Yes," he nodded. "I told you you had. You're a good soldier."

"A good soldier." Bellatrix looked emotional all of a sudden. She clutched at the watch pendant around her neck and looked down, and Voldemort tightened his mouth.

"You know what I think of you," he whispered, but she shook her head and insisted,

"No, Master. I have absolutely no idea what you think of me."

For his part, he had absolutely no idea how to verbalise what she was to him. All he could bring himself to say was,

"It feels a little different this time round."

She brushed her thumb over the necklace he'd given her, and he knew she understood. The first time he'd lived these years with her, he'd lied to her and told her he had other witches. He'd married her off when she'd gotten too close. He'd never given her gifts. Things were different now. He was older; he knew things now that he hadn't known then. And he did feel differently toward her now. Her nearness was a comfort, not a distraction. The idea of another wizard courting her made his stomach ache. He huffed out a breath and murmured,

"I have no intention of allowing Daemon Bulstrode to court you. Nor anyone else. In that other time… in those years that have not yet come to pass, you asked me to possess you again. The reality is that… erm… it feels now as though it is not just me possessing you. It feels rather mutual, you understand."

Bellatrix looked at him with round eyes then. Her breath shook through her lips, and then she smiled a little. Voldemort glanced at the mantle clock that had brought him here and noted,

"It's getting late, and I'm famished. Stay for dinner."

Bellatrix smiled quite contentedly then, and she nodded. "Thank you, Master."

 **Author's Note: So, this still isn't lovey-dovey Voldemort like you've seen in some of my other stories, but he's definitely starting to get protective. And, let's face it… is there anything nicer than a possessive/protective Voldemort? Now for an awkward conversation between Cygnus Black and Voldemort. Mwah hahaha…**


	14. Chapter 14

"Cygnus. Thank you for meeting me. And over lunch, no less."

"I usually pack something from home into the bank, My Lord, so this is a nice change," Cygnus Black said. Voldemort looked down at his roast beef carpaccio and salad with bleu cheese, and then he watched as Cygnus Black tucked in. Voldemort took one small bite of beef and a sip of water, and he said primly,

"I am made to understand that Daemon Bulstrode paid a visit to your house two days ago."

Cygnus snapped his face up, washing down his mouthful of meat with a rather ungraceful gulp of water.

"Erm… yes, My Lord. He and I spoke, and eventually included Druella in the conversation, and -"

"Was Bellatrix included in the conversation?" Voldemort asked rather harshly. Cygnus' lips parted, and he said almost defensively,

"I was following typical Pureblood courtship procedures, My Lord."

"But Bellatrix is not exactly _typical_ , is she?" Voldemort poked at his beef, calmly eating another bite. He took his time chewing and swallowing, and he pointed out, "Bellatrix is a Death Eater. She belongs to me."

Cygnus' cheeks pinked, and he nodded. "Forgive me, Master. Of course, I ought to have asked you first. Is… is there an alternative besides Mr Bulstrode that you prefer?"

"Yes," Voldemort nodded. "No one."

Cygnus looked very confused. "No one?"

"I prefer that she remain unwed," Voldemort said simply. He took two slow bites of lettuce with bleu cheese and sipped at his water. Cygnus had stopped eating now. He set down his fork and knife and insisted,

"Bellatrix is nineteen. She is _very_ eligible. It seems appropriate and, indeed, necessary, that she should marry and begin… you know."

"Procreating?" Voldemort asked airily. He shook his head. "I disagree entirely. Bellatrix is far too valuable to be used as a Pureblood broodmare. Let the lesser witches squeeze out the next generation. Bellatrix is meant for much more than that."

He finished his beef and salad without looking up again. Once his plate was clear, he smirked, knowing what food would appear next. Sure enough, honey and pine nut tarts appeared on small plates, and Voldemort dug a spoon in as he said,

"Your daughter very much enjoys honey tart. I like eating it with her. I enjoy the time I spend with Bella. Particularly the time I spend _alone_ with her."

He put a bite of the tart into his mouth and raised his eyes to see Cygnus Black staring open-mouthed at him. Voldemort nodded, knowing that Cygnus understood full well now. Voldemort had taken Bellatrix away after she'd been drunk at her birthday party. He must look at her a certain way, he thought. Surely her father could perceive the way Voldemort looked at Bellatrix.

"This is Bella's very favourite dessert," Voldemort said, keeping his voice casual. "In fact, we don't really eat any other desserts anymore, she and I. Just this one. And we eat it often. Two nights ago, I managed to talk her into a second slice."

"I apologise, Master, for arranging the meeting between Bellatrix and Daemon Bulstrode. I was unaware of... the circumstances." Cygnus quickly downed the rest of his water, and Voldemort nodded tightly.

"No matter, and no harm done. You know now. Bellatrix is not to be married off."

"I understand," Cygnus said firmly. "I'll leave it be."

"Very good. Finish your lunch and get back to work," Voldemort said, rising from his chair and striding out of the dining room without another word.

* * *

Bellatrix's eyes sprang open, and she gasped as she reached for her wand. She'd heard a distinctive _pop_ that had roused her from sleep, and now she aimed her wand blindly and hissed,

"Who's there?"

"Put your wand down, Bella," came Voldemort's voice. Bellatrix's fingers shook around her wand as he stepped into a stream of moonlight, looking completely white. She put her wand on the table beside her bed, and she whispered,

"Master. I never thought I'd see you here… at this hour."

"I was bored," he informed her. Bellatrix rubbed her eyes and opened the clock pendant round her neck.

"Bored at three in the morning, My Lord?" she teased. She shut the clock, and Voldemort sighed as he came to sit on the edge of Bellatrix's bed.

"I don't have to give you a reason for coming," he said quietly. He didn't look at her then as he informed her, "I had lunch with your father."

"Oh." Bellatrix frowned a little. "He didn't mention it."

"No, I expect not." Voldemort picked a little at the blue brocade coverlet. "Don't worry. You won't have any other wizards chasing after you. I made it quite plain to your father that you were unavailable."

"You told him you wanted me to focus on my service," Bellatrix nodded, but Voldemort shook his head and said,

"I told him that I enjoy eating honey tart with you. He got the message."

"Oh," Bellatrix said again, lacking anything more insightful to say. She cleared her throat a little and whispered, "Thank you."

"You kept all your dolls? I didn't notice the last time I was here." Voldemort raised his eyes in the moonlight to the shelf of porcelain dolls on the wall. Bellatrix laughed softly and insisted,

"I never played with them. Well. I tried, but I always got into trouble."

"How does one get into trouble with a doll?" Voldemort asked, still staring at the shelf. Bellatrix shifted where she was sitting against her pillows.

"Lighting their hair on fire, pretending to drown them in the pond outside. Frightening Andromeda and Cissy by putting decapitated doll corpses in their beds. Things like that."

"What a wretched child you must have been." Voldemort's lips curled up a little, and then he turned his face to Bellatrix and asked seriously, "Would you like to go on holiday with me?"

"Holiday?" Bellatrix felt very confused then. "W-Wouldn't you be recognised, Master?"

"Yes. It's entirely impossible," he confirmed. "Still, a pleasant little fantasy, isn't it? Going on holiday together."

He shut his eyes and breathed air audibly through the slits on his face. He kept his eyes shut as Bellatrix asked him,

"Master, are you quite all right? Have you… have you taken something?"

His eyes flicked open then, and he smirked. "You think I'm drugged."

"You just seem a bit off," Bellatrix admitted. She clutched anxiously at the edge of her blankets. Voldemort took another long breath and told her,

"I came here to fuck you in your parents' house. Their room is just downstairs. I came here to lock your bedroom door and fuck you so hard that your father heard your moans, heard the bed creaking. I thought that would amuse me."

"Oh," Bellatrix said yet again, her cheeks going very hot. Voldemort licked his bottom lip and informed her,

"I'm not going to do that." He stood slowly and began to pace a little. "Rodolphus Lestrange was my exit strategy last time. But this time, when presented with a convenient exit strategy, I felt ill. I do not want an exit strategy. Not this time. I want _you_."

"Well, My Lord," Bellatrix told him, "I am yours to have."

"I do not fear your nearness this time," he told her, still pacing. "I am remarkably unafraid of certain sensations seeping in. And that seems… dangerous."

He stopped then and looked right at Bellatrix with a cold, angry glare. He had his wand in his hand, Bellatrix could see now. Her lips fell open, and she was barely audible as she whispered,

"Are you going to kill me?"

"No," he said at once, tucking his wand away. "I should, probably. That way, I would have all the knowledge and experience I needed to ensure that I won this war and gained power the way I desire. Eliminating the distraction of you would seem wise. But somehow, I know that doing so would break a bit of me, and I do not wish to be broken."

Bellatrix was shocked by that, by those words. She was even more shocked when he approached her, twined his fingers into her hair as he stared down at her, and said,

"I'm going to keep you this time. I apologise for waking you. There will be a meeting tomorrow. Get some rest."

He turned to go then, and Bellatrix nearly asked him to stay. But she knew better than that, so she just whispered,

"Goodbye, Master."

He turned over his shoulder and nodded, and then he Disapparated in complete silence.

 **Author's Note: Sorry for the extremely rapid updates! Yayyyyyy hypergraphia! Thanks as always for reading, and a MASSIVE thanks to those who have left feedback. It's been enormously helpful as I craft this story.**


	15. Chapter 15

"We are missing one today." Lord Voldemort stalked slowly around the table. There was an empty seat where Winston Shacklebolt usually sat. Voldemort put his hands on the back of the chair and looked at the assembled group.

"Winston Shacklebolt succeeded in killing two Muggles on a street in Edinburgh last night. There was only one problem - he was within sight of an Auror, Alastor Moody."

A ripple of unease and disbelief went around the table. Voldemort flicked his eyes up to Bellatrix and saw that she looked angry. She wouldn't have botched this mission, he knew. She knew it, too.

"Winston Shacklebolt duelled Moody for ten minutes until Auror reinforcements arrived. When it was clear he was going to be captured and taken into Ministry custody, Shacklebolt dosed himself with the poison he carried, committing suicide rather than getting interrogated. Have I got the details right, Rookwood?"

"That is what the file said this morning in the Auror Office, My Lord," Augustus Rookwood confirmed. Voldemort pinched his lips.

"Winston Shacklebolt may have failed me, but at the very least, he had the good sense to kill himself instead of giving up any information about this organisation. Is there anyone here who would not do the same, were you to fail in a mission?"

No hands went up, and Voldemort nodded. He tapped the back of the empty chair and sighed.

"The Aurors did see Shacklebolt's dormant Dark Mark," he said, "and so I require now that you all keep yours carefully hidden, especially those of you working inside the Ministry. We are going underground for a few weeks; I can't drag the Aurors into open conflict yet. Any questions?"

He received silence in response, so he dismissed everyone. As the Death Eaters left in solemn silence, Voldemort watched Bellatrix start to leave.

"Bella," he called after her, and she paused, letting the others go by her. She waited until everyone had gone, and then she shut the door of the meeting-room and asked,

"Have you need of me, Master?"

"I have a mission for you," he said simply, "and I need it to stay secret. I'm sure you'll understand why."

Bellatrix came and sat beside Voldemort. He warded the doors with a few draws of his wand, and then he set it on the table.

"In a town called Cokeworth, there lives a ten-year-old girl by the name of Lily Evans. A Mudblood. In the year 1980, she and her husband James will have a baby, a boy called -"

"Harry Potter," Bellatrix breathed. "The boy who… that awful boy."

"Yes," Voldemort nodded. "Him. I need to stop him from ever existing. That will radically change the future, obviously. I can't walk the same path I did before. That didn't work."

"Let me kill the girl," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort nodded.

"James Potter comes from a wizarding family. I'll face some resistance; his parents will fight me. I mean to take them out at the same time that you're eliminating the girl, Lily. Can you do it?"

Bellatrix nodded vigorously. "Yes, Master. Of course I can do it. When?"

Voldemort gnawed his lip a little and said softly, "Hallowe'en."

"Hallowe'en," Bellatrix repeated, seeming surprised. "That's a whole month from now."

"They're ten years old, Bella; they're not going to procreate before then." Voldemort rolled his eyes, and Bellatrix nodded. He told her then, "I want to get to them before they go off to Hogwarts. If the conditions aren't right on Hallowe'en - a symbolic date, obviously - then we'll get them around Christmas. I'll make a decision closer to the… the… Bellatrix?"

She had slumped in her chair, and suddenly she appeared to be having a seizure. Voldemort grabbed her convulsing shoulders, but Bellatrix kept shaking. When her face fell back, she gasped loudly, and her eyes were white and cloudy.

"Bellatrix!" Voldemort exclaimed, terrified by the sight of her. He took her face in his hands, and her milky white eyes stared into the distance as she began to speak. When she did, it was as if ten voices were speaking at once - all the way from a booming baritone up to a shrieking squeal.

" _The witch who will aid him in crafting his firmament sits in obedient deference beside him… decades apart from him, inches away… the Dark Lord may fight it, but she is his only… the one upon whom his successes rely… Keeping her near to him, then will he triumph… the Dark Lord, the majesty hinges upon whether he can surrender his whole self to her._ "

Voldemort stared in wide-eyed terror, realising that Bellatrix had just delivered him a prophecy. His jaw went slack and he blinked a few times, shaking his head in shock. Bellatrix slumped forward again, her face smacking hard against the table. She gasped then and sat up, looking dazed as she touched her fingertips to her forehead.

"Ow," she complained, her voice and eyes normal. "I hit my head."

"You… dozed off," Voldemort said, feeling breathless. Bellatrix gave him an apologetic look, but then she teased him,

"Well, my bedroom was invaded last night at rather an odd hour."

"I apologise for that," Voldemort said numbly. Bellatrix gave him a strange look then, and she asked,

"Are you quite all right, Master?"

"Just… erm… I saw you hit your head, that's all." Voldemort knew he couldn't go any paler, but he felt a chill in his veins that made him shiver uncomfortably. He cleared his throat a little and nodded as he said, "Christmas. I think it's far better to hit the families during celebrations. Their guards will be down, and Aurors will be occupied with their own… Lily Evans was childhood friends with Severus Snape, and we may need to... yes. I think getting James Potter and Lily Evans out of the way at Christmas is best. Anyway, we've loads of time to rid ourselves of them."

Bellatrix eyed him suspiciously then, and Voldemort knew at once why that was. _We. Ourselves._ He wrenched his scarlet eyes shut and whispered,

"I'd like you to stay here tonight."

"Whatever you want, Master," Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort's breath hitched inside his chest then as he told her,

"Go to your parents' house and pack a small suitcase. Your toiletries, some clothes and pyjamas. You may be staying for a few nights, if I decide that's what I want of you."

Bellatrix's cheeks flushed a little, but she smiled weakly and reached for Voldemort's hand. He didn't flinch at the way she brushed her fingertips along his chalky wrist, the way she curled her hand into his. He squeezed a little, and she smirked at him.

"I wouldn't have botched it the way Shacklebolt did," she said, and he scoffed a little.

"I know," he said with a nod. "But I have to let the others go on missions, too. They'd feel left out if I told them my nineteen-year-old soldier was capable of handling all my assassinations."

Bellatrix grinned then, her thumb tracing a circle on Voldemort's palm.

"Promise me something, Master?"

"That very much depends," he said crisply, and she demurely lowered her eyes.

"If you mean to make me wait until Christmas to take out the would-be mother of Harry Potter, will you at least let me blow up some more Muggle houses before then?"

Voldemort laughed quietly and asked, "That was fun for you, was it?"

She tipped her head and nodded. "Quite fun."

He licked his lip and gave her a conciliatory brush of his knuckles over her jaw. "As soon as I feel the heat's come off from this Shacklebolt mess, I'll turn you loose on some hapless Muggles, Bella. You ridiculous, venemous creature."

"Venemous," Bellatrix repeated, grinning. "Am I a snake now?"

Voldemort gave her a bit of a playful look and hissed in Parseltongue, " _Can you understand me?_ "

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows and shrugged, and Voldemort shook his head with mock disappointment.

"No, she's not a snake. A different sort of viper, perhaps."

He just stared at her for a long moment then, remembering the words that had come forth from her in a trance - the prophecy.

 _The witch who will aid him in crafting his firmament sits in obedient deference beside him… decades apart from him, inches away… the Dark Lord may fight it, but she is his only… the one upon whom his successes rely… Keeping her near to him, then will he triumph… the Dark Lord, the majesty hinges upon whether he can surrender his whole self to her._

"My Lord?" he heard her ask, and Voldemort blinked a few times, snapping back to the moment. She pulled her hand gently from his and suggested, "I'll go pack that suitcase?"

"Yes." He nodded and waved his hand a little, dismissing her. Bellatrix rose and started to walk toward the door, and then she turned slowly with her hand on the knob.

"Do you know," she said carefully, "I _would_ like to go on holiday with you, Master. But… somewhere where you wouldn't be recognised. Somewhere distant and snowy and lonesome. I would like that very much."

His chest ached at that for some reason, and he nodded and said in an unaffected voice, "Hmm. Perhaps someday, eh?"

Bellatrix seemed to study his face for a moment then, and he was abruptly very self-conscious of his thin lips that blended in with his grey skin, his vibrant red eyes, his bald veiny head, and the slits of his flat nose. Bellatrix smiled a little at him, looking as entranced as if he were young and handsome, and she said,

"I'll be back soon, Master."

He said nothing to that; he just let her go.

 **Author's Note: Oh, my. A prophecy! Taking out James and Lily! Dreams of a snowy, remote time away! Now… who's up for a lemon? Show of hands. Haha. Okay - I know I have really gone crazy with updates in the last two days (thanks, hypergraphia), but I just want to thank those who have taken the time to comment even with the super-quick chapter postings. I am going to bed for the night, so no more until tomorrow! Promise!**


	16. Chapter 16

"You call this a nightgown?"

Bellatrix grinned into the mirror as she spat out her toothpaste. Behind her, Lord Voldemort was giving her a serious look as he insisted,

"This is not a nightgown. This is a wispy little breath of fabric, nothing more."

"Shall I put on a robe for modesty, Master?" Bellatrix asked, rinsing out her mouth. Voldemort made a low little sound as she bent over, and he said,

"No. You should take this off."

Bellatrix froze then, and when she turned to face Voldemort, she felt profoundly embarrassed.

"My Lord," she said, "as much as I would adore to be naked for you right now… I, erm… I started bleeding a few hours ago. Perfectly normal, I promise."

He laughed a little and rolled his eyes, and Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot, but he insisted, "I'm aware that it's normal. No matter. I went many years without having you at all. I can certainly go a few days."

Bellatrix shifted a little where she stood, leaning back on her hands on the edge of the sink.

"I was hoping… erm… hoping you might show me something."

Voldemort shrugged. "Show you what?"

Bellatrix shut her eyes, far too humiliated to look right at him then. "I was hoping you might show me the ways you like to be touched… Master."

There was silence then, and when she opened her eyes, Voldemort was frowning a little.

"I'm sorry… you want me to masturbate in front of you?"

Bellatrix shook her head wildly. "N-No. It's… it's a stupid idea. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

She started to walk past him, but he gently took hold of her arm, and she turned round to look up at him. He stared down at her for a moment and then said,

"I'll show you. With your hand beneath mine."

"All right," Bellatrix whispered with a nod. She followed him out into the bedroom and climbed wordlessly onto the bed with him. She knelt beside him as he lay back against the pillows a bit. He eyed her flimsy black nightgown and told her,

"I like the look of your breasts in that lace."

"Oh. Thank you, My Lord." Bellatrix glanced down at the low-cut triangles of lace covering her small breasts. She was a little surprised then when Voldemort reached up with his long, pale fingers and dragged them around her chest, tracing the soft undercurve of each side and then trailing up around the top. He hummed a little noise and laced his fingers through Bellatrix's, bringing her hand beneath his robes until she felt firmness in his linen trousers.

Voldemort shut his eyes for a second, brushing Bellatrix's knuckles around his erection, and he mumbled,

"There is one caveat I'll give you. This particular form of mine… this body… it's quite sensitive."

"I don't want to hurt you," Bellatrix insisted, but Voldemort shook his head and huffed,

"No, you won't hurt me. It's only that… well, it's very normal and natural and expected that an older wizard would be _less_ sensitive. Some men my age can't finish. Some can't get hard at all. But this body is rather ageless, you understand, and… I've noticed that everything is sensitive. That's all."

"Well," Bellatrix said reassuringly, "I'm not sitting here timing anything."

He smirked up at her and dragged her fingers around the outline of his cock in his trousers. She watched his eyelids flutter shut, and she realised he was completely hairless - including eyelashes. When his red eyes found hers again, she knew she was studying him closely. He seemed to realise something then, and he murmured in awe,

"You're attracted to me."

"Of course I am," she whispered back, but he scoffed, and his hand stilled.

"I am an old man who looks like a snake. _Of course_ you're attracted to me." His sarcasm was thick, but Bellatrix shrugged.

"I can't help it, Master."

"Well, I won't complain," he told her. He reached to unbutton his trousers, and then he hesitated. "It looks odd. The colour's off, you know."

"I've never spent much time examining other specimens, My Lord," Bellatrix smiled. He did not smile back as he pulled his hard cock out. Bellatrix tried not to gasp. It was so pale that it looked thin as paper, white as the moon with thin veins visible up the smooth shaft. The tip was swollen and purplish. He had no hair at the base or up his stomach.

" _Lubrico_ ," she heard him whisper, and when she brought her hand bravely to his shaft, she felt slick lubrication there. Voldemort gave her a meaningful look and said, "It doesn't feel so nice if it's dry."

"I can relate," Bellatrix said with a shy sort of look. Voldemort curled his long fingers around Bellatrix's and began to pump their hands, spending quite a lot of time up around the tip. He must like it best there, Bellatrix thought. On instinct, she pressed her thumb to the place where the tip and shaft met, and Voldemort dug his head back into the pillow and seethed through clenched teeth. He wrenched his tunic up with his left hand and mumbled,

"It's not going to last."

"That's all right, Master," Bellatrix said, feeling breathless and aroused. She watched their hands move together on him and started to flush between her own legs. She had a self-cleansing device in for the bleeding, of course, but she could still feel her body come alive in spite of the inconvenient timing and the cramps. She made her hand go faster, and Voldemort's fingers started to shake around hers.

"Oh." He wrenched his eyes shut and tightened up, and Bellatrix watched in awe as his cock went harder and thicker than ever. Then she heard him say in a very desperate voice, "Kiss me."

She did, still moving her hand as she bent down to press her lips against his. He was cold to the touch, his tongue awkward in her mouth as he was clearly losing control of himself. Bellatrix nibbled on his bottom lip a little, and for some reason, that seemed to drive him over an edge. He groaned into her mouth, and she tore her lips away. She watched in fascination as his come leaped in ropes up onto his smooth grey stomach. It landed in puddles, and Bellatrix felt compelled to touch it.

"Bella…" Voldemort sounded shocked as she dragged her fingers along the skin of his stomach, spreading the mess around a little. She gave him a weak little smile and asked,

"Did that feel good, My Lord?"

He let out a sound of disbelief and shrugged. "Of course it did. You see what you've done to me, hmm? Yes, it felt good, Bellatrix. _Tergeo. Scourgify._ "

He cleaned up the mess he'd made, the mess on his stomach and her hands, and he quietly tucked himself away again. Then he stared up at Bellatrix and told her,

"Lie down beside me."

She did, facing him as she tucked herself beneath the blankets. Before she could say anything, he snared his sharpening fingernails - they'd grown out a bit - into her curls. He crushed her mouth with his, and Bellatrix drank in the aggressive kiss. He dragged his tongue over the roof of her mouth. His hand tightened against her scalp. His teeth grazed her lip. It felt good. It felt so good that Bellatrix moaned softly. The kiss started to grow deeper then, though the sharp edges were smoothed away into something that felt… different.

He was rubbing her head with the pads of his fingers now. His hand was trailing down her back and pulling her near. His lips were just brushing against hers, his breath and hers tangled in the air between them. Bellatrix felt a tingle come over her entire body, her skin prickling as she realised she'd never felt like this before with him.

"Master," she whispered against his mouth, and he kissed her so carefully that she planted her hand on his bare scalp and rubbed affectionately.

"Bellatrix." Voldemort seemed breathless as he pulled his mouth off of hers. He sat up rather quickly and stared down at her like she was a dangerous animal.

"My Lord?" Bellatrix felt terrified all of a sudden. "Have I angered you?"

"No." He was looking at her with a bizarre expression, as though he feared and adored her at the same time. She watched his throat bob, and he informed her,

"I'm going for a walk in the gardens. Alone."

"Now?" Bellatrix asked as he rose out of the bed. He glared at her and snatched his wand from the bedside table, reminding her,

"I do not require your permission, Miss Black. I'll be back in a little while."

Bellatrix was open-mouthed with surprise as he left, ensuring he was all done up before sliding on his dragon hide shoes and stalking briskly out of the suite. She sat alone in the bed, staring at the door from which he'd just gone, wondering what on Earth she'd done to make him need a moonlit walk on his own.

 **Author's Note: Raise your hand if you suspect Voldemort's feelings for Bellatrix are starting to go beyond his control! Raise your other hand if you suspect something extremely dramatic is likely to happen in this story very soon! Got both hands up? Good. Onward!**


	17. Chapter 17

' _Tom!' called Mr Burgin at the sound of the bell above the door chiming. 'Customer!'_

' _I've got it, Mr Borgin!' Tom Riddle called back. He stepped out to the counter area and said, 'Good morning. How can I…'_

 _He trailed off then, for the young witch who had walked into Borgin and Burkes was Bellatrix Black._

 _How was this possible? Had she traveled through time? Tom Riddle cleared his throat, reading a complete lack of recognition on Bellatrix's face._

' _May I help you?' Tom asked, and Bellatrix stared right at him. She studied his eyes, his cheekbones, his lips. She'd recognised his voice, he could tell. She breathed softly,_

' _Master.'_

Voldemort sat up with a gasp, looking beside him to see that Bellatrix was fast asleep.

She'd given him a prophecy. She was a Seer, or perhaps the prophecy simply needed to be heard. And the prophecy had said that Bellatrix was the key to Voldemort's success, that keeping her near was critical.

He'd realised something the night before when he'd walked alone in the gardens, and that realisation had frightened him terribly. Now he swallowed hard and lay back down, determined to get a few hours' rest before the sun came up.

* * *

"There are how many spies in the Ministry?" Voldemort asked, and Rookwood immediately answered,

"Sixteen, My Lord."

"In what departments?" Voldemort inquired, and Rookwood pulled out a leather-bound folio from his elegant briefcase. He cleared his throat and said,

"Two of the Aurors are ours. Three more in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including Yaxley. One working birth registrations - that's new; that's a good placement. Two in the Wizengamot… we should work on increasing that substantially… Four in the Department of Magical Transportation. Doesn't seem like much import now, but they'll be critical when we feel the need to monitor Floo and Apparition. Two in the Department of Magical Creatures… they're working on the centaurs and giants as we speak. The last two are Abraxas Malfoy and myself, working directly under the Minister for Magic."

Rookwood shut the folio, and Voldemort nodded his approval. Then he said,

"Having more in the Wizengamot would be nice, but that's not the top priority. We need the press. New spy placements for the time being are to go to _Prophet._ We won't turn the Ministry until the newspaper's on our side."

"I understand, Master," Rookwood nodded. "We've been trying to get in there, but no one's retired or resigned, so -"

"Then kill one of them," Voldemort snapped, "and have one of ours Imperius their way into employment. Rodolphus Lestrange, perhaps. He's innocuous enough that no one would call him out."

"Very good, Master. Anything else?" Rookwood asked, and Voldemort shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. Rookwood left, and for the next few minutes, Voldemort stared out his window and just thought.

The leaves were going red and orange in the gardens, which was pretty. It would last, Voldemort reminded himself. Pretty things never lasted.

He whirled round at the sound of banging on his office door. He rolled his eyes and barked,

"Come on in, Bella. Why do you always feel the need to… what the blazes happened to you?"

Bellatrix shut the door behind her and came walking slowly, gingerly into the office. She was limping a little, Voldemort could see. Her face was covered in blood, which seemed to be coming from a deep gash on her forehead. Her hands looked like she'd punched concrete, and her leggings were torn. She smelled of fire and smoke.

"What happened?" Voldemort snapped again, walking quickly toward her. He scowled at her, but she grinned and shook a little where she stood.

"I was a little too close," she admitted. "I… erm… I was blowing things up."

Voldemort noticed at once that one of her pupils was much larger than the other. Her left arm was hanging oddly; did she have a dislocated shoulder?

" _Legilimens,_ " Voldemort incanted, deciding that he'd rather see for himself what had occurred. Her mind was throbbing - pain. She was in pain. He worked through it to find the recent memory of what had happened, and suddenly he was taken to a working-class neighborhood with hills around it.

" _CONFRINGO!" Bellatrix was practically dancing down the sidewalk, blowing up one building after another. She had Disillusioned herself, so whilst she might have looked like an odd blur in the air to the Muggles, they were far more focused on the explosions. One Muggle woman almost ran into Bellatrix as she dashed toward the building that had just blown up._

" _Lawrence!" the woman shrieked. "Are you all right?"_

 _Bellatrix laughed like mad and aimed her wand at a tree, just for fun. She smirked and said quietly, "Confringo."_

 _The tree blew up at once, sending twigs soaring through the air as the trunk toppled to the ground and burned. Suddenly there was an enormous BANG! Bellatrix whirled round to see that one of the buildings she'd blasted apart had spread its fire to the place next door. Evidently, something in the second building had been very combustible. Bellatrix ducked and put up a Shield Charm, protecting herself from the broken glass that flew toward her. All around her, people were screaming and running. Bellatrix laughed again and aimed her wand at the row house in front of her._

" _CONFRINGO!"_

 _This time, she forgot in her haste to put up a shield, and when the building burst apart, Bellatrix was socked with flying bricks and shards of glass._

 _She found herself knocked to the ground, her own blood mingling with puddles of other people's blood. She crawled in agony through the mess to find her wand, and she finally heaved herself to her feet. It was time to go, she knew. Her head pounded so badly and her ears rang so loudly that she wasn't sure she'd be able to Apparate without Splinching, but it wasn't as though she had much of a choice._

"You got a little carried away," Voldemort said, pulling out of Bellatrix's mind. She smiled up at him and said sarcastically,

"Sorry, My Lord."

"Oh, shut up," he teased. "Come. Let's get you fixed up."

He walked with her up to his suite. She needed quite a bit of help on the stairs, and then she got so dizzy that they had to stop for a few moments. But she eventually hobbled to the suite and sat with a wince on the green velvet sofa.

"I'm getting blood all over this," she noted, but as Voldemort made his way to the potions stores, he shrugged.

"Nothing a few siphoning and scouring spells won't fix. Speaking of which…"

He brought a few bottles over to the sofa, and he aimed his wand at her.

" _Tergeo Sanguinae. Scourgify Trio._ "

He watched as the blood and filth were scrubbed away from Bellatrix's wounds. He picked up a bottle of Essence of Dittany and crouched down. He worked carefully to drop the potion along all her cuts, each laceration hissing and smoking a little as the medicine did its work. He corked the bottle and set it down with the dropper, and then he picked up her left arm. She screamed in pain, arching her back, and Voldemort sighed. He touched his wand to her shoulder and murmured,

" _Episkey._ "

Things snapped back into place, and again Bellatrix screamed. She looked like she was going to throw up from the pain. Voldemort grabbed a bottle of Anodyne Draught and dropped four small doses between her lips. She'd be drowsy from that, he knew, but she needed it. He used his wand then to fix up her torn clothes, and he brushed his pale knuckles over her head.

"I think you've got a concussion, but I don't have a good solution for that. I'm not a Healer."

"Well, you're quite at playing one," Bellatrix informed him. Voldemort smirked and Banished the potions back to the stores. He moved to sit beside Bellatrix, not complaining at all when she leaned her head onto his shoulder. He suddenly remembered the dream he'd had the night before, where he'd been a young Tom Riddle and Bellatrix had come sauntering into Borgin and Burkes. He'd been troubled by the dream all day. He cleared his throat and asked Bellatrix,

"How are you feeling?"

"Better," she whispered, sounding drowsy already. "Are you angry, My Lord?"

"Angry?" He frowned. "Why would I be angry?"

"You said I got carried away," Bellatrix said. "I wasn't seen. What will their newspapers say?"

" _Bombastic Mess Causes Mayhem in…_ where were you?"

"Aberfan. In Wales," Bellatrix murmured. Voldemort scoffed.

"You mean that place that had the giant coal spoil disaster a few years back? Oh, that's just cruel, Bella. You're awful."

He was smiling, though, unable to help himself. He adored how very vicious she could be. She raised her eyes to him and shrugged.

"I thought maybe they'd think it was a mining accident."

"They may," Voldemort nodded. "But, once again, the Ministry will know it was magic, and we'll sow more fear and unease than ever. You did very well. I'm very proud of you, even if you did bang up your head and let glass and bricks slice you open."

"Sorry," she whispered. She had a strange look in her eyes, which Voldemort wanted badly to attribute to a head injury. But he recognised the expression she was giving him for what it really was, and he turned his eyes away, gritting his teeth a bit.

"You should rest," he told her. "You've worked hard today, and that potion's going to make you very tired."

She didn't answer him, so Voldemort waited a moment and then finally scowled down at her, prepared to scold her for ignoring him. But she'd fallen asleep. He stared at her peaceful face for a moment, contemplating taking her into the bedroom so she could sleep on a pillow. But he selfishly wanted her near him, so he just shifted a little and guided her down onto his lap. She seemed comfortable there, squirming up against him and sending a shiver through his veins.

He played gently with her hair, petting her curls and staring at her cleaned, milky skin. He thought of her blowing up houses on her own in Wales, of her walking into Borgin and Burkes before she'd ever been born, of her petting Nagini's head.

And then he shut his eyes and whispered to her sleeping form,

"I think that… perhaps… I might love you a little bit, Bellatrix."

He got no response, of course, so he just kept petting her hair, and he listened to the seconds tick away from the clock in the corner.

 **Author's Note: Uh-oh. He's admitted it to himself, at least. Will he admit it to a Bellatrix who can actually hear him? If you've read my other Bellamort fics, you'll know that I strongly believe that Voldemort would be capable of love *under the right circumstances,* and that his understanding of love would be warped, lopsided, and decidedly wicked. Combined with the prophecy Bellatrix delivered and their plans to eliminate certain parts of the future, what do these ~feelings~ mean for Voldemort's path to power? Hmm...**


	18. Chapter 18

"Pork shoulder."

He sounded amused. Bellatrix looked up from the food that had just appeared on her plate at the dinner table and smiled at Lord Voldemort.

"You said it was your favourite, Master."

"So it is," he replied, "but I told you to choose the menu."

"I did." She picked up a bite of the pork and said in a cheeky voice, "I chose your favourite."

Voldemort just stared for a moment, his eyes looking a little odd. Bellatrix spent a few moments eating, and then she admitted,

"I had the most bizarre dream last night, My Lord."

"Did you?" he asked lightly, and Bellatrix nodded.

"I dreamed that I woke up in the inn at the Leaky Cauldron. There was a newspaper on the bed… it was 1950. I wandered around and went to Knockturn Alley. Inside Borgin and Burkes, there was this very handsome young wizard, and for some reason, he reminded me of you."

"Did he?" Voldemort sounded a bit strained then, and Bellatrix frowned at him. He shrugged and told her, "That's an odd dream."

Bellatrix took a few more bites of her pork, then set her fork and knife down and decided to ask him a question that had been bothering her for some time.

"Have you ever heard of a Horcrux, My Lord?"

His scarlet eyes snapped up, and he asked in a lethally soft voice, "Why would you ask me that?"

Bellatrix felt her veins go a little cold, and she nervously told him, "Back in 1996, I was reading books in the library, trying to find a way home. I found a very old tome that talked about them. About Horcruxes."

" _Dark Magic for Desperate Occasions_ ," Voldemort nodded. He set down his own fork and knife and folded his hands on the table. "You think I've got one."

Bellatrix chewed her lip nervously and said nothing for a while. Finally, meeting Voldemort's eyes, she said,

"I thought about it… I've been thinking about it. About how you took a rebounded Killing Curse but didn't die. You were without a body, and then you were resurrected. So I thought… perhaps you'd made one."

"I made six," Voldemort said matter-of-factly. "There are only five in this time. Nagini was one. I've no idea what's happened to the bit of my soul I put into that snake, now that we've both meddled so severely with time. But, you're not wrong; it's why I was no longer handsome when you first knew me in this time. It's why I had to accept this body. It's why Nagini wanted to be near you."

Bellatrix nodded and stared at her empty plate. "I won't speak of it again, My Lord."

"Good," he said. Bellatrix shut her eyes and gulped hard.

"The young wizard in my dream. Mr Borgin called him _Tom_. My father once told me that you were a few years ahead of him in school and that your name back then was Tom Riddle. Was it you in my dream?"

She opened her eyes to see him staring back at her, his eyes seeming more red than ever. He cleared his throat softly and said in a calm, crisp voice,

"My name was Tom Riddle, the same name as the despicable Muggle who abandoned my Pureblood mother. Granted, she did trick him into loving and marrying her, but he wasted no time in abandoning her as soon as he could. My Pureblood mother died when I was born, and I was raised by Muggles in an orphanage, burdened with my filthy father's name. I shed it as quickly as I could. I killed my father and his equally deplorable parents. So now you know, Bellatrix. I'm a Half-Blood who looks this way because I've split up my soul. Now what do you think of me?"

Bellatrix blinked. "I think you're magnificent."

He smirked and shook his head. "So eager. So loyal. I could tell you I was a Mudblood with a secret wife and children, and you'd still adore me, I think."

Bellatrix frowned. "Secret wife and children?"

Voldemort rolled his eyes and said, "You know what I mean. Your loyalty seems unconditional."

"My loyalty to you is based on what I've seen with my own eyes," Bellatrix said firmly. "Nothing else matters. Nothing else could chip away at my reverence for you."

He didn't answer that, for new plates had appeared with dessert on them. Voldemort seemed to study the honey and pine nut tart for a very long moment, as though he found it remarkably interesting. Bellatrix anxiously picked up her spoon and carved off the end of the tart. She put it into her mouth, relishing the sweet taste. Voldemort raised his face, his hands still folded, and he said in a numb sort of voice,

"I am in love with you."

Bellatrix dropped her spoon. She nearly choked on her bite of tart, finally rescuing herself with a quick swig of rich red wine. She sputtered for a moment, but Voldemort stayed completely calm as he sniffed a little.

"Master," Bellatrix finally whispered, convinced she'd heard him wrong. Voldemort raised his bare brows and said helplessly,

"I realised it the other night. When I was kissing you in bed. Then I went outside and walked around, and I realised it all the more. And the more I think about it, the more certain I am. I did not think I was capable of it, but I am very certain, Bellatrix. I am in love with you."

Bellatrix felt tears come unbidden, streaming slowly down her cheeks as she nervously shoveled two huge mouthfuls of tart between her lips. She was still chewing frantically when Voldemort asked with a bite,

"Have you no response at all to what I've said?"

Bellatrix gulped down wine so fast that she nearly vomited it back up. She set her glass down with a shaking hand and said,

"I'm sorry. I just... wasn't expecting you to say that."

"Well, I wasn't expecting to experience it," Voldemort replied. His tart was still untouched. He sipped slowly from his own wine and murmured, "I do not expect you to reply. I am very well aware that I am abjectly unlovable. I was not loved as a child; I've certainly got no delusions about being loved as an old, destroyed man."

"Destroyed?" Bellatrix shook her head. "No. You survived a rebounded Killing Curse through your own sheer power. You were resurrected because of your own magic. And whether you expect to be loved or not, you are. You're loved by your Death Eaters."

"I am _feared_ by my Death Eaters," Voldemort corrected her, leaving his tart alone and sipping his wine again. "I am respected by most of them. Loved? No. I've never asked for it. I've never wanted it."

"Well, _I_ love you," Bellatrix said confidently, knowing immediately that she'd spoken the truth. Voldemort's face shifted a little, and he blinked a few times before nodding.

"Right. Well. This has been an illuminating meal."

They ate their tarts in silence, and Bellatrix finished another entire glass of wine.

He loved her. He, Lord Voldemort, her master and lord through time and space, loved her. He _loved_ her. Bellatrix shook like a leaf where she sat as she tried to register that information.

"There is a village outside Doncaster," Voldemort said after a long time. Bellatrix looked up from the crumbs that remained of her tart, and he said tightly, "The village is called Auckley. There are no fewer than four Mudbloods living there. One is an elderly man who lives alone. Another is married to a Muggle. A third is married to a Half-Blood. And the fourth is a student at Hogwarts whose parents live in the village. They all live on or very near Spey Drive. I can put all this information into a dossier for you."

"That's not necessary, My Lord," Bellatrix smiled. "Am I taking them out?"

"You're lighting their houses on fire. No explosions, you hear me? Fire." Voldemort gave her a serious look, and Bellatrix laughed softly.

"No explosions. Fire only. When?"

"Eager little creature." Voldemort sounded almost breathless, and he flicked his eyes around for a moment before finally settling his gaze back onto Bellatrix. "This weekend, when you know they'll be home. Go in the middle of the night. I'll get you the exact addresses. Time for a spot of arson, Bella."

She drummed her fingers on the table and asked him, "Are you happy?"

He seemed confused for a moment, but then he licked his bottom lip and nodded.

"You know, it is strange. I am grateful for everything that's happened. I lived these years before, but I did them wrong. I made mistakes. I failed. And, even if I must do it in this body, I have been handed the opportunity to live these years correctly."

He let out an audibly shaky sigh then and finished off his own glass of wine as he told Bellatrix seriously,

"I was not the same after you married Rodolphus. I became… unfocused. I made mental errors. I miscalculated risk; I misjudged characters. I was paranoid and anxious by the time I heard the prophecy about the Potter boy, and I handled that mess impulsively. And I was destroyed by it. The night before you married Rodolphus was, I think, the last time I was truly in control of my own mind. Afterward, it was… I was different. I see that now."

"You're not going to make me marry him this time round, are you?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort sniffed lightly.

"No. I told your father, and I meant it… you're not to be married off. I told Nagini, and I meant it. I mean to keep you."

Bellatrix nodded and smiled just a little at him.

"That sounds wonderful. I'll set those fires for you as soon as I can, Master."

 **Author's Note: HE SAID IT. And he means it. And he's gonna keep her. And she's gonna set fires for him. *squeals in Bellamort* Thank you for reading. Please do leave a quick comment if you get just a moment.**


	19. Chapter 19

"Master? Master!"

Voldemort rose from the chair in which he'd been reading a book. Bellatrix came bursting into the sitting room of the suite, her eyes so wide they looked like they were going to bug straight out of her skull. She was visibly shaking with excitement. There was a bit of soot on her cheek, and as she came trotting toward Voldemort, he smirked and asked,

"Did it go so well as that?"

"Mmm-hmm!" Bellatrix giggled softly and dashed toward him, throwing her arms around him. Voldemort froze. People didn't embrace him, and he didn't embrace other people. This was a little strange, the way she was _hugging_ him, but he found he quite liked it. He liked it enough to thread his own arms around her and murmur,

"Show me. _Legilimens_."

 _Auckley was quiet. It was one in the morning, and nearly all the houses had their electric lights shut off. Bellatrix illuminated her wand and checked on the letterbox that she was, indeed, at number 10. She smirked a little and aimed her wand at a ground level window._

' _Finestra.'_

 _The window smashed quietly, its shards dissolving into sand. Bellatrix edged closer to the window and aimed her wand at the fabric drapes inside._

' _Incendio… Incendio… Incendio.'_

 _She lit fires on the drapes, on the carpet, and on the sofa. Then she dashed away, knowing she had to move quickly today. She ran down the street as fast as she could, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw flames licking and curling at the window of number 10. Bellatrix grinned as she came up to number 28. She aimed her wand from farther away this time, up at a first storey window that looked like it looked in a bedroom._

' _Finestra… Incendio!'_

 _Bellatrix laughed madly then, for her Fire-Making Spell had gone straight into the room, and the flames were visible almost immediately. She kept running, crossing the street and running down a small dead-end road to the home of the Muggles whose child attended Hogwarts._

 _No explosions, Voldemort had insisted. Bellatrix sighed in frustration, deciding she could at least have a little fun. She walked right up to the house, breathless from running, and she glanced back to where the other two houses were now burning. She heard voices - screams and shouts for help. She needed to move quickly._

' _Alohomora,' she said, and the door clicked open. She shoved the door and barged into the house, swishing her wand around the foyer and crying, 'Incendio! Incendio! INCENDIO!'_

 _She stood there for a while as the house started to burn. She'd started the ceiling on fire, and a beam quickly fell, tearing at the plaster and sizzling as it hit the ground. Flames licked at the wallpaper, which curled off the walls. A mirror fell and crashed on the ground. Bellatrix's heart was racing, but she knew she had one more stop before she left._

 _She dashed out of the burning house and started to run next door, to the place where the Mudblood and his Half-Blood wife lived. She giggled like a child as she ran, and then she froze._

' _Stop right there,' said a man aiming a wand at her on the sidewalk. The woman - the witch - raised her own wand and narrowed her eyes._

' _Bellatrix? Bellatrix Black?'_

' _Aurora,' Bellatrix nodded, recognising the Hufflepuff girl from her own Hogwarts year. So this marriage was new, then. She studied the Mudblood and tried to put a name to a face, finally nodding. 'Hamish McLachlan. Ravenclaw. Inter-House marriage. How adorable. AVADA KEDAVRA!'_

 _She had whipped her wand at Hamish McLachlan before he could even gasp, and the bright flash of jade light buzzed in the air for a moment after he fell. Aurora, his wife, screamed and seemed to be trying to muster the wherewithal to cast a proper spell. Bellatrix said swiftly,_

' _Expelliarmus. Avada Kedavra!'_

 _Aurora's wand soared into Bellatrix's hand, and Aurora slumped down, falling onto her husband. Bellatrix tossed the wand down on top of them and stared at their pyjamas… their flammable pyjamas._

 _No explosions, Voldemort had said. Fires only._

' _Incendio,' Bellatrix murmured smoothly. 'Incendio.'_

 _As the fallen couple caught fire, Bellatrix looked at the house next door, which had become completely engulfed in flames. She could hear the wailing sirens of a Muggle fire brigade coming. There were three houses and two bodies burning now. It was time to go, Bellatrix thought. She looked around her and laughed a little, touching her fingers to her forehead and hoping that she'd made her master proud._

"Oh, yes," Voldemort nodded, pulling himself out of Bellatrix's mind. "Yes. You've made me proud. So proud."

He kissed her hard then, smelling smoke on her like he had the last time she'd been allowed to go a bit rogue. He found himself pushing her toward the wall, shoving her by her shoulders, and he mumbled against her mouth,

"I'm going to fuck you until you can't breathe."

"Yes." Bellatrix tipped her head back against the wallpaper, and Voldemort nonverbally Vanished every scrap of clothing on her. She didn't seem to care. He kissed her neck so aggressively then that he knew she'd be left with purple bite marks. Good. Let people see what a good girl she was, what a wicked soldier she was.

He wanted to fuck her on the table at a meeting, he thought distantly, though of course that was an insane thought to have. But he couldn't stop reliving the memories of her lighting everything on fire, and his cock was so hard that it hurt.

Suddenly his vision went away. Everything was black.

"Master?" Her voice was distant, cold, weak. "Master?"

 _Bella_. He tried to call out to her, to speak, but there was nothing. He was just lying on the ground, or floating, or something else. He had no idea. Everything had gone away. The sitting room was gone.

" _Rennervate,_ " he heard Bellatrix incant frantically. He felt sleepy all of a sudden, like he'd been dosed with some sort of draught. He tried to blink his eyes open. He tried not to lose hold of the thin thread tying him and Bellatrix together.

 _Master, what are you doing here?_ She knew it was him. She knew the young wizard in Borgin and Burkes was Lord Voldemort. He gulped hard and yanked a key from his pocket, planting it on the counter between them, and he mumbled,

 _My flat's near the White Wyvern… the building next to the tattoo parlour. Second storey, unit on the left. Number 4. Go there. Wait for me._

"Wait for me, Bellatrix," Voldemort heard himself murmur, though his voice sounded blurry.

"Master!" Bellatrix was shaking him. She was dropping some sort of bitter liquid between his lips. Wiggenweld Potion. Good girl.

"Good girl," he whispered, but Bellatrix was crying. He could hear it.

"Please wake up," she was saying frantically. "Oh, what else can I do? I need to get dressed; I need to get help."

 _No!_ Voldemort wanted to scream at her. Help would not _help_. Help would reveal whatever weakness this was. He shook his head, or he thought he did. _Just get me into the bed_ , he tried to tell Bellatrix. He could feel himself being Levitated. He could hear her crying.

 _Then it really was you in my dream,_ Bellatrix was saying in Borgin and Burkes. _This is really you._

 _Go to my flat and wait for me, Bellatrix,_ Tom Riddle instructed her firmly.

 _Yes, Master._

"Master?"

His eyes sprang open, and he sat up so fast that he got dizzy. Bellatrix was standing beside the bed, wrapped up in one of his dark velvet robes that was entirely too large on her. He'd Vanished her clothes, he remembered now. He cleared his throat, studying her terrified face, and he asked,

"What happened?"

"You were… we were about to… you know," Bellatrix said, her cheeks darkening. "I came back from Auckley, and we -"

"I remember that much," Voldemort snapped. "Why did everything go black? Why was I…"

 _Why was I having visions of you in my past?_ he wanted to ask, but he didn't. Bellatrix shrugged helplessly.

"You fainted, My Lord. Or something similar. I don't know. Should I send for a Healer?"

"No!" Voldemort snarled. "No. In my office, in the cupboard to the right of the desk, there's a detailed medical kit. Go and get it and bring it here, and we'll run some diagnostics."

The last time something like this had happened, it had been before he'd lost his first body. He'd had fainting spells when his heart rate or blood pressure got too high. A side effect of making Horcruxes, he'd read at the time.

Horcruxes.

He shut his eyes and whispered, "Nagini."

 **Author's Note: *dramatic music* Ohhhhh nooooo… it's a medical mystery for Lord Voldemort! And a spoiled lemon! But at least Bella had fun in Auckley, right? Riiiiiiiight?**


	20. Chapter 20

' _This is your home, Master?'_

' _Nothing like Malfoy Manor, obviously, but they don't worship me yet.' Tom Riddle hung up his outer cloak on the rack just inside the door of his tiny flat. He aimed his wand at the miniature kitchen area and asked Bellatrix, 'Tea, Bella?'_

' _No, thank you,' she said numbly, and Tom lowered his wand. He stepped inside, the old wooden floorboards creaking angrily beneath his feet. He studied Bellatrix and she studied him right back. He shrugged a little and asked,_

' _How did you get here?'_

' _I might ask the same of you, Master,' she pointed out. 'How is it that you know who I am but look like a young man?'_

 _He didn't have a good answer for that. He approached Bellatrix and put his hands on her cheeks, and she barreled on,_

' _I didn't know you worked at Borgin and Burkes. I thought it was just a dream. How are we both here, and why do you look like -'_

' _A young man? I don't know,' Tom snapped. 'It's been a long time since I saw you.'_

' _Has it?' she asked, her voice a breathy whisper. He nodded and kissed her carefully, slowly, gently._

' _Your lips are soft here,' Bellatrix murmured, 'but your hands are rough.'_

' _Soft. Rough. Old. Young.' Tom brushed his thumb beneath Bellatrix's eye and said, 'None of it matters. You're finally here.'_

' _Finally?' she scoffed. 'I won't even be born for another year.'_

' _You're here,' Tom said again, 'and I love you just like I did when I left.'_

 _He started to push her toward his low, lumpy bed by the window, and she moaned softly._

' _My Lord…'_

"My Lord?"

Voldemort opened his eyes and then winced against the bright light. Bellatrix was breathless in a chair beside the Bed. She'd set a heavy trunk on the floor beside her chair. She had a book on her lap, a volume about emergency magical medicine. She opened the book and scanned through the table of contents.

"Diagnostics," she read, and she flipped through the book until she got to the right chapter. Voldemort just stared at her, thinking suddenly that she was extremely pretty. Pretty wide eyes, pretty full lips. She was beautiful. He gulped hard as she read aloud, "This says to begin with a test of the senses to establish if there's been any kind of injury to the brain. Says there's a kit for that in this trunk. Let me see…"

She bent down to rifle about, and then she pulled out a black leather bag with a tag on it that said _Five Senses Testing Kit._ Bellatrix fumbled around for awhile until she pulled out a cardboard card and handed it to Voldemort. She cleared her throat.

"Right. So. Can you please tell me what colour the three circles at the top of the card are?"

Voldemort stared at Bellatrix. She was staying so calm, so collected. She'd been mad with excitement setting fires, but she was calm now. He cleared his throat a little and said patiently,

"Purple. Green. Orange."

"Very well done, Master," Bellatrix said with a nervous smile. "And… erm… can you tell me what shapes are on the next row down?"

Voldemort tried not to look amused. "Square. Triangle. Star."

"Yes. Very good." Bellatrix tapped her wand to the card and mumbled, " _Circulomotor._ Can you follow the moving circle, just with your eyes?"

She was staring at him then as he watched the black circle on the card bounce around. He felt a little dizzy and shut his eyes.

"Don't like that," he admitted. Bellatrix pulled the card out of his hands, and when he opened his eyes, she seemed to be reading something on the page. She frowned and reached into the leather bag again.

"We'll go straight to touch, then… I've got this little stick here. It's not too sharp. You're meant to shut your eyes and tell me when you feel it on your skin."

"I'm meant to shut my eyes and let you poke me with a stick," Voldemort repeated incredulously, and Bellatrix smirked.

"I won't hurt you."

He huffed and shut his eyes, and then he murmured, "I think something's happened to Nagini. I think I lost consciousness because something happened to her, even all that time and space away."

"I wouldn't know if that made sense," Bellatrix admitted. "Did you not feel that?"

"Feel what?" Voldemort opened his eyes and scowled. Bellatrix was touching the little stick to his cheekbone. He shook his head. "No. I don't feel that."

Bellatrix looked very concerned. "Will you close your eyes?"

He did, and then he felt a little poke against the other side of his face.

"There," he murmured. "There. There."

Then there was a silence, and he felt nothing at all. Bellatrix sighed, and when Voldemort opened his eyes, he saw her reading the page before her. She suddenly flipped about a hundred pages further, and he saw that she was reading a section entitled "Strokes and Other Brain Injuries."

"It says here that you should be dosed with an anticoagulant and antiplatelet potion as soon as possible. It suggests Eliqui Elixir, but I don't think -"

"Should be out in the stores," Voldemort mumbled. He picked up his wand and aimed it out toward the sitting room. " _Accio_ Eliqui Elixir."

He felt dizzy and weak then, and as he shut his eyes, he thought he might be sick on the bedspread. He set his wand down, swallowed the bile that had come up into his throat, and heard Bellatrix say quietly,

"Just ten drops for now, Master."

"I can do it myself," he snapped, and he grabbed the bottle of potion from her. She looked a little hurt, and he pinched his lips as he said almost apologetically, "This is an uncomfortable situation for me."

"I understand, My Lord," Bellatrix said, shutting her book and packing up the leather bag of materials. Voldemort let ten drops of Eliqui Elixir fall onto his tongue, and as he screwed the bottle shut, he lay back a little and said,

"I need to know if you've had any more dreams about it being 1950."

Bellatrix looked shocked, and then she shrugged a little.

"A few," she admitted. "I was in your flat… you had a flat next door to the tattoo parlour."

"I did," he nodded. "It's where I lived when I worked at Borgin and Burkes. You saw it in your dreams? What did it look like?"

"It was very small," Bellatrix told him. "We slept on a lumpy little bed under a dirty window."

Voldemort felt cold then. He blinked a few times and asked Bellatrix,

"And I looked young?"

"You were young," she confirmed. "Right around my age."

"Twenty-three," he whispered, shutting his eyes again. "If it was during 1950, then I was twenty-three."

"It was just a dream," Bellatrix argued, but Voldemort glared at her and blurted out,

"Just a dream? I, too, dreamed of it, Bellatrix. I had a vision of it before I lost consciousness, and another before you came back with the medical kit. Between all that and the prophecy, I -"

"Prophecy," Bellatrix interrupted, and Voldemort just stared at her with his mouth open. He shook his head and licked his bottom lip.

"Nevermind," he seethed, feeling his heart race again.

"What prophecy, Master?" Bellatrix demanded. Voldemort dragged his fingernails over the brocade blanket and recited,

" _The witch who will aid him in crafting his firmament sits in obedient deference beside him… decades apart from him, inches away… the Dark Lord may fight it, but she is his only… the one upon whom his successes rely… Keeping her near to him, then will he triumph._ "

He left out the last bit, the parts about surrendering his whole self to her. He turned his face to see Bellatrix staring at him with watering eyes. She dragged a knuckle along the bottom of one eye and asked in a hoarse whisper,

"Who delivered that prophecy, My Lord?"

"You did," he said simply. She seemed utterly shocked.

"When?"

"After a meeting," Voldemort said. "After Shacklebolt died. You went into a sort of trance. You hit your -"

"Head on the table," Bellatrix finished in awe. She chewed her lower lip for a moment and asked, "Why are we having visions of you, with this mind, in your young body? Why am I there in those visions? Why is there a new prophecy?"

"I have no idea," Voldemort said crisply. He sniffed a little. "I still think something's happened to Nagini. I think that's why I collapsed earlier. I don't have any answers right now, and I'm far too tired to think any more on any of this. What time is it?"

Bellatrix looked up at the clock on the wall and said quietly, "It's nearly three, Master."

"You killed that Mudblood and his wife," Voldemort confirmed. "What you did will be in the newspaper… tomorrow's evening edition, probably, or the morning after. Come lie down with me, will you?"

As she moved around the bed, he contemplated that he had some kind of brain injury, that he'd felt an odd rip related to Nagini in his chest. He thought over the visions they'd had of the two of them in his old Knockturn Alley flat. He thought of Bellatrix delighting in the fires she'd lit. And then he felt remarkably tired.

"Let me hold you," he said almost sternly to Bellatrix. She climbed beneath the blankets, still wearing nothing but his heavy velvet dressing gown, and she slithered up beside him. He might be a bit weakened right now, but he was not too weak to play with her hair. He encouraged Bellatrix to splay herself across him beneath the blankets, to put her head on his chest, and he twined his fingers into her curls.

 _You used to like when I did this_ , he'd told her in 1996. But the first time round, he'd always stayed cold and distant, even in moments like this.

Things were different now.

"Bella?" he whispered, and she tightened her fingers on his chest in response. Voldemort shut his eyes and said so gently that his voice seemed foreign, "I do love you."

She was quiet for a moment, and then at last he felt her kiss his chest through the fabric of his robes, and she mumbled in a sleepy voice,

"And I love you, Master."

 **Author's Note: Bellatrix taking care of a sick/injured Voldemort! Rather a nice change, no? But what is with all these visions? And should he have told her about the prophecy? Hmm… Thanks for reading. Twenty points to your House for feedback! :)**


	21. Chapter 21

' _Master…'_

' _Good morning, Bellatrix.' His hand snaked around Bellatrix's arm, and he cupped her breast through her thin nightgown. Bellatrix hummed with happiness and opened her eyes, staring up at the window that was filthy on the outside. Coal dust. Muggles burned coal in this city to stay warm, and the black soot got on the glass of Tom Riddle's little flat._

 _The bed was low to the ground, lumpy and creaking. Bellatrix didn't care. She reached around behind her head and threaded her fingers into Tom's black, thick curls. His mouth latched onto her neck, and Bellatrix gasped at the feel of him kissing her there. He ground his erection up against the small of her back, and she moaned like an utter harlot. His fingers moved quickly to drag up the hem of her nightgown, and he whispered,_

' _No knickers. Naughty girl.'_

' _Tom…' She'd only just gotten used to calling him that, after weeks in this time with him. He shoved her right leg forward a little, and when he touched the tip of his cock between her legs, Bellatrix whispered,_

' _I'm soaking wet for you, Tom.'_

' _Mmph.' Tom pushed in then, slowly, and he began to rock into her from behind. Bellatrix kept her hand in his thick hair, and she mumbled,_

' _Feels so good.'_

' _You like this, don't you?' Tom asked. 'You like being fucked in this wretched little flat by me, don't you?'_

' _Yes.' Bellatrix's voice was just a little, weak breath, and as Tom quickened his hips, he demanded,_

' _What? Say it again. Couldn't hear you.'_

' _I like it, Tom. Oh!' Bellatrix squeezed at the mane of curls on his head as a rather unexpected climax took her over. Tom groaned a bit as he felt her come around him, and he whispered over and over again,_

' _Bella… Bella…'_

"Bella."

She gasped and sat upright in bed, looking around and seeing the elegant bedroom at Malfoy Manor. She was sweaty, Bellatrix realised.. Her hair was damp, and she was panting. She turned to look at Voldemort, who was leaning against the headboard with a curious look on his face.

"You all right?" he asked tightly. "You were moaning and squirming. Was it a nightmare?"

Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot, and she shook her head. "N-No, Master. Very much the opposite."

He narrowed his eyes. "Where were we?"

She gulped. "1950."

"Hmm." Voldemort appeared to drag his tongue over his teeth, and he asked carefully, "Was it morning with me behind you?"

"Yes." Bellatrix was nervous now. Voldemort cleared his throat a little and admitted,

"I woke up an hour ago with… well, suffice it to say that I have not had a so-called 'wet dream' since my Hogwarts days. I think we may have had very similar dreams."

"Why does this keep happening?" Bellatrix asked. "Why are we seeing that time, that place? It's almost as though it's some sort of… of…"

"Alternate reality that we may or may not be living? Yes, the thought's occurred to me." Voldemort's voice was a tight clip then. He brushed his knuckles against the left side of his face and said, "I still can't feel the left side properly, but we've no choice. We've got a meeting in a few hours. I won't cancel; it'll arouse all sort of suspicion if I do."

"Do you require assistance, Master?" Bellatrix asked, but Voldemort didn't answer her. He was staring at the door that led from the bedroom to the sitting-room. He wordlessly climbed out of the bed, and as he stalked toward the door, Bellatrix's veins went cold.

" _Ssssayonath elesssioth? Nagini esssgothialesss?_ "

"Nagini?" Bellatrix leaped from the bed and dashed over to where Voldemort stood. There she was - the thick, long snake whom Bellatrix had met in 1996. A Horcrux, she knew now. Nagini had a bit of her master inside of her. Bellatrix crouched down as though Nagini were an adorable puppy to be greeted. The snake immediately curled up around Bellatrix's shoulders and down her right arm, and Bellatrix grinned up at Voldemort.

" _Gayonesss alesssiyonagasss…_ " Voldemort said to the snake in Parseltongue, and Nagini hissed something unintelligible back. Voldemort smirked at Bellatrix.

"She has no idea how she got here, but she's very happy to see you."

"I'm happy to see her, too!" Bellatrix dragged two fingers down Nagini's head as the serpent slid over Bellatrix's torso and across her lap. Bellatrix giggled softly and declared, "I've missed you. Pretty girl."

When she raised her eyes, Voldemort had an odd look on his face. Bellatrix frowned a little, and Voldemort shrugged.

"She knew before I did," he told Bellatrix. "She knew I loved you before I knew it."

"She's a snake," Bellatrix reminded him. "She can't understand what love is."

"She has my soul within her," Voldemort said, "so she knew. She knew."

"You thought she'd been destroyed," Bellatrix reminded Voldemort. "Do you suppose perhaps you were just jolted by the feel of a Horcrux moving through time?"

"Probably," he nodded. "It doesn't matter much now, does it? We've a meeting in a few hours. Let's get dressed and go have some… erm… lunch."

He'd looked at the clock, which read nearly eleven. Bellatrix wasn't surprised; they'd not fallen asleep until three. But she was very reluctant in putting Nagini down and stepping away, and the snake seemed even more hesitant to leave her, following her to the wardrobe like a dog.

"I know she's yours, Master," Bellatrix laughed softly, "but she does quite like me. And I like her right back."

"She's not mine anymore, I don't think," Voldemort said, and then a look of almost horrified realisation seemed to come over his face. He whispered softly, "She has my soul, and she's yours now."

"I didn't mean to upset you, Master," Bellatrix insisted, but Voldemort shook his head roughly and barked,

"Get dressed. I'm famished."

* * *

"Is it true you were the ones to set the fires in Auckley last night?"

Bellatrix turned her head at the sound of Rodolphus Lestrange's voice. Bellatrix smiled weakly as Rodolphus sank into the chair beside her.

"Yes, it's true," Bellatrix said. "I had quite a lot of fun doing it, too, I have to say."

Rodolphus gave her a very warm smile, and he informed her, "It's my birthday next week. I wonder if you'd come celebrate with me."

Bellatrix scowled. "Is there a party?"

"Yes, just a small one that Rabastan's throwing," Rodolphus said with a shy little smile. "Avery, Nott, Abraxas Malfoy, our cousin Theo, Amycus and Alecto Carrow, Rookwood, a few others. Not a big to-do, you know, but -"

"I'd have to ask the Dark Lord," Bellatrix said firmly, and Rodolphus frowned a bit.

"This isn't anything to do with Death Eater work," he said. "It's completely off the clock."

"I'm never really off the clock," Bellatrix insisted. "Happy birthday in advance. I'll look into the party."

Rodolphus opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the door to the meeting room opened, and Voldemort came walking in, barefoot and grey-faced, Nagini trailing behind him. A shiver of fear went around the room, but Bellatrix felt only relief in her master's presence. He gestured for everyone to sit, and when they did, Nagini headed straight for Bellatrix.

" _Hayanosssieth Nagini ayatothosss._ "

People seemed uneasy at seeing Lord Voldemort speak in Parseltongue, and even more uneasy when the giant snake obeyed his apparent command to come back beside him. Voldemort folded his hands on the table and appraised everyone for a moment before he said in a slow, easy tone,

"Last night, three houses in Auckley were burned, and a Mudblood and a Half-Blood traitor were killed. Excellent work, Bellatrix."

"I only hope I've pleased you, My Lord." Bellatrix bowed her head. When she looked up, Voldemort was pulling something silvery from his robes. He set it on the table and gestured to Bellatrix with one finger. She rose and scampered over to him, and he held out a single Sickle to her. Bellatrix frowned in confusion but took the coin and said,

"Erm… thank you, My Lord, but this isn't necessary…"

"Isn't it? No, you're quite right." Voldemort snatched the Sickle back and Vanished it with nonverbal magic. Then he said to everyone around the table, "Your service to me is performed without traditional trappings like salary, without physical reward. Your reward is being on the right side of history. Your reward is my approval, my satisfaction. And, Bellatrix, you satisfied me perfectly well last night in Auckley."

She smirked a little at the double entendre. Voldemort casually turned his scarlet gaze to Rodolphus Lestrange, and he said in a low hiss,

"She will not be in attendance."

Rodolphus' face went chalk white, then flushed reddish-purple with shame and humiliation. Voldemort left the others to be confused by his words. Bellatrix felt an odd rush of happiness. Once upon a time, in the years he'd lived, Voldemort had forced her to marry Rodolphus Lestrange.

Things were different now.

Voldemort gave her a solemn look, but then the corners of his lips curled up. Nagini slithered toward Bellatrix again, and this time, Voldemort didn't stop her. Bellatrix pet Nagini's head gently beside her chair, and she smiled a bit at Voldemort.

She had a sudden flash to the dream from which she'd awakened, with him behind her, pushing his body against hers with his hand on her breast.

 _Tom_ , she'd moaned, her fingers tangled in his thick, dark curls. She stared at him now, at the fearsome Lord Voldemort, and he stared right back with his scarlet eyes, his bald grey head, the slits of his flat nose. Then he nodded and turned his face, and he told the others,

"Keep up your work. Dismissed."

 **Author's Note: Yay! Nagini came back (somehow)! But what's with all these visions and dreams of a 1950 where Voldemort is living as Tom Riddle but knows Bellatrix? Hmm...**

 **I am out of town tomorrow and Sunday. I will try to update Sunday night. Thanks for reading!**


	22. Chapter 22

' _So this is the place. This was your home.' Bellatrix stared up in awe. Tom Riddle followed her gaze up to the gate before Wool's Orphanage, and he shook his head firmly._

' _I certainly never thought of it as home. But I was a boy here.'_

' _It's dreadful,' Bellatrix said. Rain was pattering around them in soft droplets that turned her wild mane into a halo of damp curls. She turned her face to him, and he asked very seriously,_

' _Will you marry me?"_

 _Bellatrix just blinked, looking unfazed by the question, and she noted, 'This is the sixth time you've asked just this week.'_

' _I keep hoping that perhaps your answer might change,' Tom said. Beyond the orphanage, a rumble of thunder rolled through the air. Bellatrix sighed and whispered,_

' _I can't.'_

' _I know,' Tom nodded, 'but just tell me you will. I just want to hear… hear you say that you will.'_

 _Bellatrix lowered her eyes and asked in a murmur, 'You want to pretend?'_

' _I want to pretend,' Tom answered. 'So. Will you marry me?'_

 _Bellatrix looked up as the rain began to fall harder. She looked at the orphanage and mused, 'I wonder what she was thinking when she came here. Did she know she'd die? Was she frightened? Why did she still name you after that awful man? Merope… I wonder.'_

' _Bella.' Tom waited for Bellatrix to turn back to him, and he asked once more, 'Will you marry me?'_

' _Yes, Tom.' Bellatrix sounded a bit resigned. 'I'll marry you.'_

Voldemort took a few deep breaths where he sat in his office. He'd just gone into some sort of trance, an altered state of mind that had left him feeling dizzy and weak.

He rose on shaky legs from his chair and walked over to the little cart in the corner of his office. He opened the crystal bottle of fine firewhisky and tried not to tremble as he poured half a tumbler for himself. It was entirely too much whisky, he knew, but he needed it today. He had a meeting in a half hour with his innermost circle of Death Eaters to discuss progress at the Ministry and new missions.

She'd be there. Bellatrix.

He sipped from the glass of burning liquor as he contemplated the way he'd tried his best not to contact her. He'd gone four days now without seeing her or writing to her. He'd been trying to put some distance between them, but now he knew he did not want that distance. He was craving her. It was though he were starving and she was the promise of food. He _needed_ her.

Still, the vision he'd just had - the sight of the two of them in front of Wool's Orphanage - was mildly terrifying. Voldemort took a too-generous swig of firewhisky and tried to convince himself that it was just some odd sort of hallucination. Surely there was no such existence, a place where he knew Bellatrix but was living as Tom Riddle, a place where they were together before she had even been born… a place where he'd asked her to marry him and she'd insisted that she couldn't.

It was just a dream, a hallucination, some sort of waking nightmare, he insisted to himself. Nothing more. It couldn't be anything more.

" _Master, I feel her near. She is here. She is here!_ " Nagini slithered up before Voldemort, who scowled as he drank more firewhisky.

" _She is here for a meeting, not for personal interaction,_ " Voldemort said firmly in Parseltongue, setting his tumbler down on his desk and walking toward the door of his office. Nagini followed him, faithful as a puppy, and Voldemort shut the office door behind them. He worked his way down the corridor to the meeting room, and when he came inside, it was empty. He stared at Nagini and hissed in Parseltongue,

" _Why do you care so much about her?_ "

He began to pace as Nagini answered back,

" _You are in love with her, and so I must be near her. That is why I came here, to this time. I must be near her._ "

Voldemort stared at the snake, tipping his own reptilian head a little as he huffed a sigh and pointed out,

" _She has a name, you know. She's called Bellatrix._ "

" _Bellatrix…_ " Nagini hissed the name and looked as blissful as a snake could possibly do. Suddenly the door to the meeting room opened, and Bellatrix came in. She shut the door behind her, and all Voldemort could bring himself to say was,

"You're early."

"Shall I wait outside, Master?" Bellatrix asked, and he just shook his head. She looked so beautiful that it almost hurt to stare at her. She wore a simple, knee-length dress of black wool, long-sleeved with a modest neckline, but it hugged her body just right. The wide black leather belt around her tiny waist was aggressive set against the femininity of the gown. Her curls had been plaited into a loose braid that was tossed over a shoulder, and she wore the clock pendant he'd bought her around her neck. Voldemort started to walk toward Bellatrix, and as Nagini followed, he hissed roughly in Parseltongue,

" _Give me space, Nagini._ "

The snake retreated, and Voldemort stepped closer to Bellatrix. She looked a little nervous for some reason, and then Voldemort realised why.

"Wool's Orphanage?" he asked quietly, and Bellatrix nodded. He let out a breath from the slits of his flat nose, and he lowered his gaze as he told her almost cruelly, "I would never ask you that. I would never in a million years ask you if you would -"

"I know, Master," Bellatrix interrupted him. He raised his eyes to hers, and she looked calmer now. She shrugged and said helplessly,

"It was just a vision."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes and asked, "When?" When did you see it?"

"A few hours ago," Bellatrix answered. That was odd, Voldemort thought. This was the second time they'd had precisely the same impression of that alternate time, but not simultaneously. Voldemort closed the gap between himself and Bellatrix, and he held her face in his hands as he confessed, "I went almost fifteen years without laying eyes on you, and somehow the last four days have been just as painful as that."

"You missed me?" Bellatrix smiled a little, looking like her knees had gone weak. Before Voldemort could answer, Bellatrix whispered, "You smell like firewhisky."

"That's because I was drinking firewhisky," Voldemort snapped. He lowered his face until his mouth met hers, and he kissed her softly a few times. Her breath was warm on his lips as she mumbled,

"You taste like firewhisky, too."

"Bella." He was hungry then, and she was nourishment. He needed her so badly that his breath hitched, and he dove in to kiss her much more fervently than before. His tongue plunged between her lips, raking over the roof of her mouth, and Bellatrix moaned wantonly into his mouth. Voldemort urged her toward the table, and she didn't protest as he lifted her up on the edge. He started to work up the hem of her woolen skirt, and Bellatrix yanked her lips from his.

"People are coming," she reminded him. "I was early; they'll be on time."

"I'll be quick," Voldemort insisted, his thinking gone sloppy. He was completely intoxicated, by firewhisky and by her, and he shoved his hand beneath her skirt. He yanked aside the crotch of her knickers, and Bellatrix gasped as he started to drag the pads of two fingers around her damp folds. He used his pale face to shove her chin aside, and he quickly latched onto her neck. He suckled so hard that she seethed through clenched teeth, throwing her head back. Her hand went for his bald head with its little rivers of veins. She didn't mind him, he knew. She didn't mind his red eyes or his grey flesh. She didn't mind that he was very tall and stick thin now, nor the way his nose had gone snakelike. She _wanted_ him. She desired him. He could tell by the way that her quim had gone wet, the way she was moaning as she kissed his neck. He was so hard that he could hardly take it, and he found himself wondering how quickly he could finish.

"Oh! My Lord." Bellatrix wrenched his face from her neck then, and her wide eyes stared behind him. Voldemort growled in irritation as he slowly pulled his hand from Bellatrix's skirt and helped her down. He wiped his hand on his robes, glad they were billowing enough to conceal his erection. Bellatrix might be embarrassed, but he wasn't, so when he turned round, he said in a quiet, measured tone,

"Yaxley. Malfoy. Do come in."

Both wizards were red-cheeked with humiliation and fear. Bellatrix was yanking on the hem of her skirt, as though somehow she'd make it longer by pulling at it. Her breath was audibly quick and shallow, and she was so scarlet with mortified discomfort that Voldemort felt a little sorry for her. He cleared his throat and snapped,

"Sit down, all of you."

He took his own chair at the head of the table, and Nagini immediately went to Bellatrix's chair.

" _You absolutely must sit with her, I suppose?"_ Voldemort hissed in Parseltongue.

" _I must be near her, Master,_ " Nagini replied. Voldemort rolled his crimson eyes a little and turned his attention to Yaxley.

"You and Rookwood have managed to get Rodolphus Lestrange in at the _Daily Prophet_ , I presume?"

Yaxley seemed more afraid than ever. "We are working as quickly as possible on that, My Lord."

"Work faster," Voldemort ordered. "We need the press."

"Yes, My Lord. We are doing everything we can, but we'll do more. We'll find a way," Yaxley said quickly. Voldemort gave him a crisp nod and turned to Malfoy.

"I want to make your son Lucius a Death Eater over the Christmas holidays. I need a good, reliable spy inside Hogwarts."

"What an honour, Master. Truly." Malfoy appeared to have forgotten all about walking on Voldemort with his hand up Bellatrix's skirt. His mind, Voldemort could plainly tell, was thinking about how near his family was to Voldemort, how very important they'd become.

"Never forget, Malfoy, that your family are my servants," Voldemort said, his voice laced with warning. Malfoy nodded humbly, and Voldemort said,

"Yaxley, prepare a dossier about an Auror. Someone sentimental… a young witch, perhaps, or a parent of small children. Someone whose loss will be keenly felt. Bellatrix and I will jointly assassinate them. Choose wisely and get the dossier to me as soon as possible. Bella, you and I will meet once we have the dossier to strategise. This time, we'll cast the Dark Mark."

Bellatrix smiled a little and looked overwhelmed.

" _Take her upstairs. Finish what you started,_ " Nagini hissed in Parseltongue. " _Take off all of her clothes and twine your body with hers. She wants you, and you want her. Take her upstairs and -"_

" _Do shut up, Nagini,_ " Voldemort practically snarled. Everyone else looked very confused indeed, but Voldemort just took a steadying breath and said, "Yaxley, Malfoy. You may go. Malfoy, hold off on informing Lucius; I don't want that message tied to the foot of a bird. Yaxley, think _urgency_ regarding Lestrange at the newspaper and the Auror dossier. Good day."

"Good day, My Lord." Malfoy stood and bowed a little, and Yaxley did the same. Both eyed Bellatrix as they left, though of course they knew better than to say anything. They simply left, shutting the door behind them. Voldemort waited until he couldn't sense their minds nearby, and he finally turned his face back to Bellatrix.

"So," she said tightly, "we're taking out an Auror."

"I apologise," Voldemort said immediately. Bellatrix threw her hands and eyebrows up and sighed.

"They saw what they saw, My Lord. Short of Obliviating them, there's nothing to be done. No use perseverating on it."

Voldemort stared at Bellatrix for a long moment then, wanting her so much that her heart began to race. He drummed his fingers on the table and said softly,

"I made you feel embarrassment."

"That is something you've little experience feeling, I take it," Bellatrix guessed. Voldemort pinched his lips and shook his head slowly.

"You've seen the orphanage in your mind. Do you suppose I took pride in being the only student at Hogwarts who returned to a Muggle orphanage over summer holidays? Do you suppose I took pride in my second-hand school supplies or my worn-out shoes?"

Bellatrix looked a little surprised. "N-No. Probably not."

"I know what it is to be embarrassed," Voldemort said, unable to keep himself from smirking just a little. "Believe me; those wizards were far more humiliated than either of us."

Bellatrix sent one eyebrow skyward and asked, "Were _you_ embarrassed, My Lord?"

Voldemort thought of the way he'd been kissing her neck with his fingers against her clit when Malfoy and Yaxley had walked into the room. He let out a low, rumbling laugh and shook his head.

"No, Bella. It would take more than that to embarrass me."

"What I saw in that vision was real, then?" Bellatrix asked suddenly, looking curious where she sat.

"Real? That depends on how you define real." Voldemort dragged his fingertips over his bald head and said, "The orphanage is real. That Tom Riddle was real. You are real. You and I saw the same things, the same spaces. But is that experience _real_? No. I don't think so."

"Are you just saying that because you kept asking me to marry you in the vision?" Bellatrix was unafraid now, he could see. She even tipped her chin up just a little bit. Voldemort ground his teeth together a bit and huffed out a little breath.

"I'll summon you as soon as I have the dossier from Yaxley."

Bellatrix looked a little hurt then, but she nodded and bypassed Nagini as she headed for the door.

"Thank you, Master. I'll wait for your call."

"Bellatrix." Voldemort hurled himself up from his chair and snatched Bellatrix's wrist. She whirled round, and he cradled her cheek in his hand. He bent and touched his forehead to hers. He spent a moment just breathing. In and out. In and out. Her breath and his tangled and mixed, and Voldemort brushed his thumb along Bellatrix's cheekbone. He touched his lips to hers and whispered, "I want you to stay."

She raised her eyes up to his, looking young and almost angelic. "Shall I stay the night, My Lord?"

"Yes," he replied. He kissed her again, carefully, taking his time. Yes, he wanted her in his bed. Yes, he wanted her to see him when he woke in the morning, Yes, he wanted to play with her hair while she fell asleep curled up alongside him. He wanted all of that. He wanted more than that.

" _Ask her to pack many clothes and stay forever, Master. Ask her to stay here and never go again._ "

Voldemort scowled in Nagini's direction, still holding onto Bellatrix's cheek as he hissed back in Parseltongue,

" _If you had it your way, I'd ask her to marry me like the moronic Tom Riddle did in the vision._ "

Nagini did not reply. She just slithered over to where Bellatrix stood, twining round her ankles as Bellatrix giggled a bit. As Nagini made her way under the table, Voldemort gulped and instructed Bellatrix,

"I want you to stay for dinner. And then I want you to spend the night. And in a few days, once we have the dossier, I want you to come with me and eliminate an Auror."

Bellatrix smiled and nodded vigorously. "Yes, My Lord."

 **Author's Note: So… is it real, that 1950 that they both keep seeing? And why is Nagini so damned pushy? And which Auror will they be killing? Hmm…**

 **Thank you soooo much for being patient while I was out of town. I would be VERY grateful for any and all feedback.**


	23. Chapter 23

"A… shop."

"Yes," Voldemort nodded, and Bellatrix scoffed a little.

"A shop in Diagon Alley."

"So that you can serve me as a spy. Yes." Voldemort's voice was terse and tight in his stuffy office, and he sounded annoyed as he noted, "You seem almost _offended_ by my orders, Bellatrix."

She shook her head and insisted, "No, Master. Of course not. But I must ask… why are you pulling me out of combat?"

He said nothing for a moment. He just stared at her, and from beside her, Nagini hissed something Bellatrix couldn't understand. Voldemort glared at Nagini and hissed back,

" _Kaganosss isssieth haladisssas gakalothosss._ "

The snake started to answer in Parseltongue, but Voldemort swished his wand through the air, sending Nagini hurtling toward a wall, and he barked out in English, "Shut up, you ridiculous animal!"

Bellatrix flinched where she sat, for poor Nagini slammed into a bookcase and fell to the ground. The snake curled up in a corner and spoke no more, and Voldemort seethed quietly. Bellatrix knew better than to ask what Nagini had said. Voldemort touched his long spindly fingers to his bald grey head, and he murmured softly,

"Her insistence these last few days has been more than a little irritating."

"Insistence? What is she insisting upon?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort didn't reply. He drew his tongue along his bottom lip, very slowly, and Bellatrix asked, "Are you taking me out of combat because you're afraid I'll die in battle?"

"Yes," Voldemort whispered at last. Bellatrix frowned.

"Well, then… teach me to make a Horcrux."

"No," Voldemort replied immediately. Bellatrix balled up her fists and demanded,

"Why not?"

"You are being insolent! Disobedient little wretches, the both of you!" Voldemort snarled, and she realised that he meant both Bellatrix and Nagini. Bellatrix glanced back to where the snake had curled up, having been thoroughly rebuked by her master. Bellatrix herself felt her heart start to race, and she mumbled,

"I'm sorry, My Lord. I did not mean to disrespect you."

He seemed to be calming down then. His temper had run away from him, she could tell. Finally, he rose from his chair, his movements in this odd form fluid and easy. He stood in front of his fireplace and stared at the mantle clock, the one he'd bought at Borgin and Burkes in 1996, the one that had brought him here to be reunited with Bellatrix.

Suddenly, Bellatrix was socked with a vision so strong, so clear, so very real that she wouldn't have been able to deny it.

' _Mint,' Bellatrix said with a little smile. 'Wouldn't have guessed mint, My Lord.'_

 _Tom Riddle smirked as he joined her at the table outside Florean Fortescue's. 'No? What flavour of ice cream did you think I'd get, Bella?'_

' _Oh, I dunno,' she replied, dipping a spoon into her own glass cup of honey and sea salt flavoured ice cream. She finished her bite and asked, 'How was work today, Tom?'_

' _Dull and uninspiring,' he replied. He raked his thick black curls back with his fingers and assured her, 'I'll be so much more powerful this time. I know who to eliminate straight away. I know the roadblocks I encountered. I know the weaknesses that threatened me. And this time, Bellatrix… this time, I have you. And the prophecy -'_

' _The prophecy.' Bellatrix shook her head firmly and reminded him, 'You've been the subject of several prophecies.'_

' _All of them true at the time they were delivered, I think,' Tom said. He stared directly into Bellatrix's eyes for a moment, and she was struck by how profoundly handsome he was. She chewed her lip as she admired his smooth skin, his high cheekbones, his hair…_

' _Your ice cream's dripping, Tom,' she told him, and he smirked once again as he licked at the cone, sending a shiver down Bellatrix's back._

Bellatrix gasped where she sat in Voldemort's office, and she looked up to see him gripping the mantle tightly. He glared at her over his shoulder, and she just nodded. They'd both had the same vision. She could tell. She watched Voldemort's throat bob, as if he were anxiously considering something.

"We can't," Bellatrix whispered. "I wasn't even born then."

"I admit that I have no idea what happens to the other iterations of us when we move around through time," Voldemort said with a nod. "I admit that I would have no clue what to do when Druella and Cygnus Black had a little baby girl less than a year after we arrived in that time. But people who use Time-Turners… they exist twice in the same place and time. It _is_ possible. Strategy would be critical. Careful manipulation of identities would be critical. But the prophecy said that I needed to surrender my whole self to you, Bella, and I was more whole back then."

"You were Tom Riddle then." Bellatrix felt her eyes burn. She stood and slowly walked to him, putting her hands on his cheeks and shaking her head. "I'm frightened."

He scoffed. "You've gone to the future, woken up in a prison. You've been freed from that prison into a world where your sister was in her forties and had a teenaged son. You've come back with a completely altered master. And you're afraid of going to 1950? Are you? Are you really afraid of that, because I don't believe you. The Bellatrix I know would never be afraid of something like that."

Bellatrix shut her eyes. "I'd have to use a different name."

"Sorry; can there not be more than one Bellatrix in the entire world?" Voldemort snapped, and she shrugged.

"A different surname, then."

"Yes," he agreed. "Riddle."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and for a moment she couldn't breathe. Voldemort blinked and told her,

"I stopped using the name fairly quickly; I'd stop even earlier given the opportunity. Second chances are rare, Bella. Third chances… I am not going to throw away this chance. This is the door that leads to an unfettered ascent."

"What if you get there, and you look like this?" Bellatrix gestured up and down his body, and Voldemort shook his head.

"I won't."

"How do you know?" Bellatrix demanded. This time, he didn't scold her for her insolence. He just said calmly,

"I believe that the visions we have been experiencing have been… cues. Prompts. Hints. You gave me that prophecy and… and I didn't tell you all of it. _The witch who will aid him in crafting his firmament sits in obedient deference beside him… decades apart from him, inches away… the Dark Lord may fight it, but she is his only… the one upon whom his successes rely… Keeping her near to him, then will he triumph… the Dark Lord, the majesty hinges upon whether he can surrender his whole self to her._ "

Bellatrix thought she was going to faint then. Her knees actually buckled, and suddenly she'd been swept into Voldemort's arms, held very close to him as he panted with anticipation.

"We have to go," he whispered. "I already had Horcruxes. Nagini has been telling me for days to go, to stay as human as I was, to learn from my mistakes and to actually succeed this time. I will rule everything, Bellatrix, and you will… you will be with me, because that's the only way it will work."

Bellatrix thought again about being born in 1951, and she worried, "We might disappear."

"No. No, think clearly, Bella!" Voldemort clutched her face, his hands shaking almost violently on her skin. "I've already destroyed certain things about the 1996 I knew. Different people have been killed, different places burned down, and yet… here I am. The me that you found in that time. I know… I just _know_ … that I will be young again, that I will be able to walk this path to power and actually clutch it in my fist. And you must be with me. Bella Riddle. Please."

 _Please_. He'd so rarely ever spoken that word that it almost sounded alien coming from his lips. Bellatrix trembled where she stood, glancing back to Nagini, and then she asked,

"Are you certain you don't want to just stay here and have me work in a shop on Diagon Alley? I'll be your spy. I'll be whatever you want."

"I want you to live with me in that little flat by the tattoo parlour," Voldemort whispered. Bellatrix stared into his red eyes, glanced down over his snakelike face, and started to cry silently. He kissed her, so gently that new tears boiled up, and he said, "I need you. If I am going to rule everything, then I need you. You have to come with me."

"All right," Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort let her go then, and he looked like he might be sick as he opened the glass covers on each of the three clock faces above the mantle. He let out a shaking breath and began adjusting the hands. He set the strange faces to the twenty-eighth of October, 1950, and when he shut the glass covers, he pulled out his wand. He pushed a brass button on the top of the clock, and with his left hand, he took hold of Bellatrix. He clutched her wrist so tightly that it hurt, but Bellatrix was distracted by the way Nagini had slithered over to them.

"Goodbye, Nagini," Bellatrix whispered, for she had a sneaking suspicion she'd never see the snake again.

" _Moveri Pertempus. Moveri Perstratium. Moveri Pertempus. Moveri Perstatium._ " Voldemort was repeating the spells over and over again, his wand aimed at the clock on the mantle. Suddenly the hands on all three faces began to spin wildly, and then Bellatrix felt an odd, awful sort of lurch. It was like Apparating, only so much more violent. She screamed at the pain, at the terrible squeeze in the darkness. She was colder than she'd ever been.

Then, without warning, she'd been tossed to the ground. She landed so hard that she knew she'd have a bruise on her hip. She looked around and called frantically,

"My Lord? My Lord!"  
He hadn't come. She was in the tiny flat, the one from the vision. She looked about as she painfully forced herself to her feet. There was the lumpy little bed by the dirty window. There was the miniscule kitchen, the tiny bathroom, the rickety-looking old wardrobe.

"My Lord?" Bellatrix said again, this time feeling sure she'd lost him forever.

Suddenly she had an idea, a wild idea, and she flung open the door of the flat, her boots pattering on the creaky steps with their threadbare carpet. She dashed out the front door of the building and looked next door. There was Markus Scarrs Indelible Tattoos, right beside the White Wyvern. Bellatrix hustled down Knockturn Alley, sidestepping shoppers and people who simply seemed up to no good. She finally reached Borgin and Burkes, and she hesitated before going inside. She tried to breathe, tried to realise that this could just be a vision like any other. But then she pinched her skin, and it genuinely hurt, and she knew this was real. She finally forced herself to open the shop door, and when she did, a little bell rang overhead.

"Tom!" called a voice from the back of the shop, "Customer!"

"I've got it, Mr Borgin."

Bellatrix froze. His voice was clear and young. When he came walking out from the back room of the shop, he was the handsome, black-haired young wizard from the visions. He silently made his way out and stood behind the counter, and when he smirked at her, she knew that he'd recognised her. All she could bring herself to do was to walk slowly toward him and whisper,

"Hello, Master."

His smirk grew into an elated sort of grin, and he nodded. "Hello, Bella."

 **Author's Note: *squeeeeeee* This is the chapter I've been wanting to write for a while now. I am SO EXCITED about the plans I have for the next 10-15 chapters. I want to thank you so much for reading this far and leaving feedback. This story is just too fun to write. Please let me know what you think about this particular jump, especially since Voldemort's been given his original body back. Thank you!**


	24. Chapter 24

"Mint."

Tom Riddle laughed a little as he sat opposite Bellatrix at a table inside Florean Fortescue's. He shrugged.

"I like mint ice cream."

"Hmm." Bellatrix looked serene as she studied him, and he knew why. He had been genuinely handsome in his youth. Gone was his flat nose with its snakelike slits. Gone was his bald, veiny head and his chalky, paper-thin flesh. Gone were his angry scarlet eyes and the severe, bare brow bone. He was a tall, lanky young man here, with thick black waves on his head, with a sharp gaze and full lips. He was so much more human here, though he already had Horcruxes.

"So," Tom said quietly, glancing about to ensure no one was listening, "if anyone asks, your name is Bella, and you attended Ilvermorny. Horned Serpent was your House. Keep your age ambiguous; don't answer any questions about your family. You're a Half-Blood, by the way; you've got Muggle family here in Britain and wizarding family in America."

Bellatrix looked utterly horrified, and she whispered, "I'm a Pureblood!"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know. Not all of us Half-Bloods are despicable, you do realise? This is the only way."

"Right. I'll be very careful, Master," Bellatrix nodded.

"Don't call me that!" he hissed, and her eyes went wide.

"What am I meant to call you?" she demanded, and Tom ate some of his mint ice cream before he reminded her,

"My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. I have not yet had the opportunity of being called anything else. Call me Tom."

Bellatrix shook her head. "I can't do that, My Lord."

" _Tom_ ," he hissed. Bellatrix dug her spoon into her caramel pecan ice cream - Florean Fortescue's didn't have honey flavour today - and she muttered,

"Tom. All right. Tom. So, you've been here an entire week?"

"It seems as though we both moved and came close, but I landed on the twenty-first of October, and you landed on the twenty-eighth. I fully confess to being rather devastated when I thought I'd lost you in the process. I've been a bit miserable at work. I convinced myself you'd Vanished into the ether. Imagine my happiness when you came walking into Borgin and Burkes this afternoon."

"And where is the you who lived here?" Bellatrix asked. "Where is the Tom Riddle who knew nothing of Bellatrix Black in 1950? The Tom Riddle who had never yet lived as the Dark Lord?"

"I don't know," Tom admitted. "It seems like iterations disappear… I can't pretend to know. I have a theory, but it's entirely unprovable. I think that the 1996 we left behind still exists somewhere, but not in a straight line from where we are now."

Bellatrix looked awfully confused. "Do you suppose that my birth next year will… you know, complicate things?"

"I hope not," Tom said, and he decided to leave it at that. He looked around the ice cream shop, realising that it had been probably thirty years of his lived existence since he'd been in ordinary public places like this. It was still strange, too, to consider that his mind and fragmented soul were nearly seventy years old, but his body was twenty-three.

"The more I think of the logistics," Bellatrix said softly, "the more anxious I become. I think perhaps we ought to just… live. Here. Together."

"That seems wise."

Tom's ice cream was starting to drip all over his hand. He quickly worked to lick the rivulets of pale green from his fingers and thumb, and he dragged his tongue around the top of the cone. As he swallowed the mint ice cream, he flicked his eyes back to Bellatrix, who was staring at him like he was water in a desert. He smirked a bit and asked,

"You like when I lick it, do you?"

"Yes," Bellatrix whispered. Tom stared at her as he pulled his tongue over the ice cream again, and she looked breathless. He leaned forward and said in a low voice,

"The first time I lived through the seventies, I did that to you. Often."

"Did what?" Bellatrix's voice was almost inaudible, and Tom clarified,

"I licked you."

She frowned in confusion, and he almost laughed at her ignorance. He glanced downward and whispered,

"I licked you… between your legs. Like this."

He lathed his tongue over his ice cream again, and Bellatrix moaned softly in desperation. Tom laughed a little then, until a middle-aged wizard stepped up to the table and said in disbelief,

"Mr Riddle? My, it's been a few years."

Tom looked up in alarm to see Horace Slughorn standing before him. He'd taught both Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Black, though there had been twenty-five years between those times. For some reason, the presence of that common denominator reminded Tom of how small the visible age gap was between himself and Bellatrix here.

"Professor Slughorn." Tom rose to his feet and nodded politely at Slughorn. "Playing hooky from Hogwarts, sir?"

"No, no, my dear boy; I had a few errands to run. The quality of the Potions ingredients in Slug and Jiggers are far better here than in Hogsmeade, you understand." Slughorn smiled broadly, his eyes glancing to Bellatrix.

"Professor Slughorn teaches Potions at Hogwarts," Tom said, as though Bellatrix hadn't spent seven years studying under the man. She wisely smiled at him and said,

"Pleased to meet you."

"Professor, this is…" Tom froze then. What was she to him? There wasn't a very good honest answer to that question. He sank his teeth into his bottom lip and decided to leap off the ledge of reason. "This is my wife, Bella. She had the pleasure of attending Ilvermorny."

Bellatrix's eyes went round as saucers, and Slughorn looked very surprised.

"Wife! My goodness, dear boy; I had no idea. Congratulations."

"Thank you," Tom said rather numbly. His ice cream cone had melted all over the napkin where he'd set it. He pulled out his wand and nonverbally Vanished the treat. Slughorn seemed to take the hint, and he said jovially,

"Well, I didn't mean to interrupt. Just wanted to say hello, eh? Tom, I assume you've got a good Ministry position?"

Tom smiled and shook his head. "I'm working at Borgin and Burkes."

Slughorn frowned and said, "Oh. I thought that was just a rumour. Well, if you're happy, my boy, that's what really counts, isn't it? Good to see you, Tom. And nice meeting you, Mrs Riddle."

Bellatrix just nodded silently. Once Slughorn had gone, Tom sat back down and folded his hands on the little table. He knew very well what Bellatrix was about to say. Sure enough, she set down her spoon and said,

"Mrs Riddle? _Mrs Riddle?_ "

"Is it that revolting an idea, to be married to me?" Tom asked crisply, and Bellatrix shook her head.

"N-No. Of course not, My Lord, but I…" She hesitated, appearing to realise that she'd called him by an honorific he hadn't yet earned in this time. She sighed and shrugged and said, "We aren't married."

"It's just pretend," Tom nodded. "Just like you attending Ilvermorny. Just pretend. It's all part of keeping you safe here."

"I think I should get a job," Bellatrix said suddenly. Tom tipped his head and asked simply,

"Why?"

"So that I feel useful," Bellatrix said. "In those other times, I was a soldier for you, and so I felt useful."

"Well," Tom said, crossing his arms over his chest, "There's a _Help Wanted_ sign in the window of the tattoo parlour next to my flat. I have a feeling that a place like that won't ask too many questions about your background."

"But I'm no good at tattooing!" Bellatrix insisted. Tom laughed a little and asked,

"Have you attempted many magical tattoos?"

"No," Bellatrix admitted. "I suppose it's worth a try to inquire."

"Soon enough, I will have as much money as I want, and you won't need to work - aside from being my soldier again," Tom said very confidently. "Things are going to be different this time. Better. Besides, I need you as a soldier here. I haven't got any others. But what I do have is a target - the first person who absolutely must be eliminated if I'm to find glory."

Bellatrix just stared down at her ice cream, and she whispered softly, "Dumbledore?"

"Yes," Tom answered. He watched then as Bellatrix spooned a little more ice cream into her mouth. She held out the spoon to Tom and said, "You can have some, since you Vanished yours."

"Thanks." Tom gave her a good-natured expression, and when he took the spoon, he brushed his fingers over hers.

"Your skin is soft and warm here," she noted. Tom sank the spoon into the glass cup of ice cream, and when he brought it to his mouth, he took his time dragging it out again. He purposefully licked the remainder of ice cream from the inside of the spoon, and he watched Bellatrix's cheeks flush pink.

"You want me," he observed. Bellatrix just blinked and then insisted,

"I wanted you in 1996. I wanted you in 1970."

"But here I'm a handsome wizard just a few years older than you," he said, tipping his head. He held the spoon back out to her and told her, "I can see it in your pretty eyes. Burning want. I feel the same thing, believe me."

"I want to go to the flat now," Bellatrix told him plainly. She still hadn't taken the spoon, so Tom set it down and reached for her hand. He dragged his thumb back and forth inside her palm, and she shivered like it had gone cold in the shop. Tom laced his fingers through hers, squeezed them, and said quietly,

"What I did to that ice cream cone… I'm going to do it to you, Bellatrix."

He found her eyes, and as he caressed her hand with his, the pink flush on her cheeks spread down her neck. She was aroused, sitting her staring at him, letting him touch her hand. Tom gulped, for he himself had gone a little hard, and he asked in a shaky whisper,

"Shall we go back to the flat now?"

Bellatrix just nodded wordlessly, and Tom quickly rose from his chair, keeping his hand linked with Bellatrix. It didn't even occur to him, as they walked out of the ice cream parlour and made their way through Diagon Alley, that he was holding her hand. It also never occurred to him to let go, so he didn't. He finally released her hand when they were at the top of the worn-out stairs in the old brick building where Tom lived. He finally let her go so he could pull out his key, and as he unlocked the door, his heart began to thud like a war drum.

He tucked the key away and led Bellatrix inside, and she curled up the ends of her lips as she observed,

"It's just like in the visions I was having."

"Yes. Just like that." Tom gulped as he stared at his lumpy bed - a bed he had not seen in over forty years of living - and then at Bellatrix. He would be unashamed of nudity here, with his tightly muscled, lean, young body. He would be rather proud, as it happened, to be naked with her.

To that end, he began stripping off his robes, and he said to Bellatrix,

"Take off that dress. I need you. Now."

 **Author's Note: Raise your hand if you are down for a long, detailed lemon between Sexy Young Tom Riddle and Bellatrix! For reference, as I'm writing this, I am definitely imagining Tom Riddle in CoS (Christian Coulson) and Helena Bonham Carter as she appeared in** _ **A Room With a View**_ **. Hope that helps as we transition this story into a new time frame.**

 **Thank you SO SO SO SO SO much to the people who have left feedback. I appreciate it more than you know.**

" **You like it when I like it, do you?" is my new catch prase. Just FYI.**


	25. Chapter 25

"Master."

Bellatrix couldn't call him anything besides that, not when she was lying on her back with him hovering above her. His eyes were dark here, like they'd been when she'd first known him. But his face was sharp and youthful, and his hair was thick and wavy. His arms and chest and stomach were lean and taut, sculpted just so. He was beyond anything Bellatrix could have imagined.

And right this minute, he was bending to kiss at her bare breasts, which made Bellatrix groan softly with want. She felt a deep flush of pleasure go through her core when he suckled one of her breasts into his mouth. He danced his tongue over her hard nipple, and she asked quietly,

"Have you always been so good at this?"

He laughed a little against her and pulled his head up. "No. The first time I was twenty-three, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing with a witch. It was you who taught me everything."

Bellatrix frowned in confusion. "How could I do that?"

"Practise makes perfect," Tom smirked. He kissed her between her breasts, then squeezed at the soft flesh with one hand. "I had quite a bit of practise with you, in a time you never experienced."

"This is all so strange," Bellatrix breathed. He was kissing in a line down her flat stomach now, pushing her thighs apart as he slid between them. Bellatrix clutched at the pillow that was beneath her head, and she watched as he descended. He let out a small, desperate sort of noise when his face went between Bellatrix's legs.

"Hold my hair," he instructed her. Bellatrix was confused by that order, but she obeyed. She snared her fingers into his thick waves and squeezed a little, and Tom grunted and nodded. Perhaps, Bellatrix pondered, he liked the feel of her holding him because it had been at least forty years since he'd had thick hair like this.

"I need to taste you," she heard him say, and before she could respond, he took hold of her hips and burrowed his face up against her. Bellatrix gasped at the feel of his tongue dragging up toward her clit - just like he'd done to the ice cream. He hadn't been kidding about that. He did it again, and again and again until Bellatrix was sure she would break into a thousand pieces. She squirmed where she lay, and his hands tightened on her thighs. Her own fingers were gripping his hair hard, and when he raised his eyes to her, she moaned helplessly. Suddenly he poked his tongue inside of her, lapping against her walls, and Bellatrix yelped.

"Hush," he scolded her, his breath warm on her sensitised skin, "I have neighbors."

"Sorry." Bellatrix tried to stay quiet then, but it was nearly impossible once he started to suck on the various parts of her. He pulled the lips of her womanhood into his mouth and licked them, and then he flicked his tongue over her clit. Bellatrix arched her back up and cried out, releasing his hair and reaching frantically for the sheets.

"Tom," she murmured, and the syllable felt so good on her lips that she said it again. "Tom. _Tom._ "

"Mmm-hmm?" he hummed against her, lathing his tongue a few more times. Bellatrix couldn't think straight. She could hardly breathe. It felt so good - _so good_ , better than anything in the world had felt before. His hands were rubbing at her thighs, soothing her, and she could feel a little tremble in them. He was aroused, too, she knew, but she was about to snap.

"Please," she said in a cracked whisper, though she wasn't sure what she was begging for. Tom licked very firmly at her clit then, his tongue sliding deeply from left to right, then right to left. He did that a few times in a row, and Bellatrix completely crumbled.

"Tom!" she cried, squeezing her eyes shut as a loud ringing pulsed in her ears. She moaned wordlessly as she came, her walls snapping around Tom's mouth. It was so much more intense than any climax Bellatrix had ever experienced, and she knew she was being very loud with her moans and whimpers. She couldn't help herself. She couldn't come quietly. Not when it felt this good.

"Bella," she finally heard him say, and when she opened her eyes, still panting, he stared at her. He pulled himself up onto his knees, and Bellatrix gasped. His cock in this body was probably perfectly ordinary, but Bellatrix had been a virgin when he'd taken her body with his grey, odd-looking organ. This one seemed remarkably masculine, with a thatch of dark hair around it, with its tan colour and the visible throb of his desire. Tom's shaking hand started to pump up and down his length, and then he paused, muttering, " _Lubrico._ "

His wandless magic was impressive, Bellatrix thought distantly. He was a remarkably powerful wizard in the body of a twenty-three-year-old. He wouldn't need to spend years on the Continent learning the Dark Arts, because he'd already learnt them. His mind was experienced, but his body was fresh and young. He would be unstoppable now.

"Bellatrix." Tom tipped his head back a little and emitted a choked sort of sound. "Oh."

"Wait!" she cried, for she suspected he meant to come on her belly. She scrambled to grab his hips and pull him closer, and she begged him, "In my mouth. Please."

"No. It tastes… it tastes… bad." Tom was on the verge, Bellatrix could tell. She finally found his eyes, and she whispered,

"Please."

"Oh, Bella." He moved forward on his knees a little, and Bellatrix opened her mouth. When he came, the first spurt landed on her cheek, but the rest of it jetted between her lips and onto her tongue. It was bitter and metallic, but Bellatrix found she didn't mind, not one bit. Tom watched in awe as she swallowed it, and he gasped when she dragged the puddle off her cheek into her mouth with her finger.

"B-Bella…" Tom collapsed onto the bed beside her, and as he stared at the ceiling, his cock started to visibly soften. He gulped, and Bellatrix asked him,

"Are you all right, Master?"

"I forgot," he said breathlessly. "I forgot how… how _intense_ it could feel. Old men don't feel things like that."

"Well, you're a young man here," Bellatrix smiled. She playfully pushed a rogue wave of his hair off his forehead, and she whispered, "I didn't know it could feel like that, either."

He shut his eyes and reminded her, "It's just pretend. Us saying we're married. Just pretend."

Bellatrix said nothing to that. She remembered how, in a vision of this time, he'd asked her over and over to marry him, and she'd said that she couldn't. _I want to pretend,_ Tom Riddle had said in that vision.

She kissed at his tightly muscled shoulder, his hard chest with its sparse patch of hair at the centre, and she murmured,

"I think I will very happy pretending here with you, My Lord. And I think you will get everything you want."

He turned his head toward her and nodded.

"I'm already off to a rather rewarding start," he said, and he took a steady, certain breath.

* * *

"So you want the job, but you've never tattooed." The witch behind the counter had platinum blonde hair with streaks of blue and turquoise running through it. She wore an aggressively low-cut white blouse and a flouncy black skirt. She was very pretty, Bellatrix thought.

"I would like to learn," Bellatrix said. "I'm a quick learner."

The other witch blew and popped a bubble of Drooble's gum and shrugged. "Well. We've had that sign up for six months with no inquiries. If you want to learn, I'll teach you. My name's Edna. And you are?"

"Bella. Erm… Bella Riddle," said Bellatrix. Edna narrowed her eyes.

"Riddle? Any relation to Tom Riddle?"

Bellatrix felt her cheeks warm. "He's my husband."

Edna's sculpted eyebrows flew up. "Didn't know he'd gotten married. He was such a wolf in school; I didn't think he'd ever settle down."

That made Bellatrix's stomach churn, and she cleared her throat a bit. "I didn't know him in school; I went to Ilvermorny."

"Oh." Edna shrugged. "Well, you bagged yourself the most eligible bachelor in wizarding Britain. Congratulations. Now… come on over here and I'll show you the supplies. We'll start with the Indelible Ink."

Bellatrix numbly followed Edna back through the cramped shop, with its posters of designs and its somewhat messy work station. As she did, she thought that perhaps she'd ask Tom at dinner just what sort of a wolf he had been.

 **Author's Note: Woo hoo for lemons, right? But… uh-oh… do I spy a jealous Bellatrix on the horizon? Hmm…**


	26. Chapter 26

"You're cooking dinner?"

Tom Riddle glanced over his shoulder and smirked at Bellatrix as she came into the cramped little flat.

"I did live here on my own for some time, you know. Couldn't afford to eat at the Leaky Cauldron every night. It's just tinned soup and some bread, I'm afraid."

"That's fine, Master," Bellatrix said. He couldn't help but like that she called him that in private, even when he looked like little more than a boy. He swallowed hard and used his wand to continue heating the watery chicken soup. It had come cheap from the sundry shop. Tom had found a cache of money in a battered wooden box he kept in a cupboard, but he made a pittance at work, and he couldn't splurge on food. There wouldn't be any honey tart with pine nuts. Not yet.

Bellatrix sat at one of the stools along the counter, and she seemed awed as Tom ladled out soup into two mismatched crockery bowls. He broke apart the little loaf of bread and muttered,

"I haven't got butter."

"That's all right." Bellatrix gratefully took her soup and bread, and Tom filled up two chipped glasses with water from the tap. He frowned, aimed his wand at the glasses, and murmured,

" _Crystallum Reparo._ "

Then he handed the mended glass of water to Bellatrix, and he dragged his other stool under the counter and sat opposite her. He dipped his bread into the chicken soup and asked,

"How did things go at Markus Scarrs, then?"

"Well," Bellatrix said, "I got hired, so that's good. Turns out that magical tattooing requires good spellwork, not necessarily artistry. Edna said I have to start out with the designs they have in the book - they've got spells for each. But I -"

"Edna?" Tom laughed softly, took a bite of bread, and chewed. His smile vanished when he saw Bellatrix's face. He forced the bite of soupy bread down with a sip of water and asked, "Was it Edna Flint? Pale as a ghost, blue streaks in her hair?"

"That's the one." Bellatrix silently spooned broth into her mouth, and Tom sighed. He'd had a very brief fling with Edna Flint, once upon a time. He folded his hands on the counter and said tightly to Bellatrix,

"When I first took your virginity - sorry, I'm referring to the _first_ time I took your virginity - I had gone over twenty years without touching a witch. And after I made you marry Rodolphus, I went another twenty years without touching a witch. _You_ , Bella, spent five years consuming my attentions, until I grew uncomfortable with how much I craved you. Now I've come through time, insisting that you be with me. Please, by all means, do explain why it is that you're experiencing jealousy."

Bellatrix scowled. "I'm not jealous, Master."

"Do not lie to me," he snapped. Bellatrix took another few bites of soup and said sourly,

"This soup tastes awful."

"Oh, well… I do apologise for the lack of gourmet cuisine," Tom said, narrowing his eyes. "Why are you jealous? What did Edna tell you?"

Bellatrix raised her eyes and looked awfully sorrowful. "She said you used to be something of… a wolf."

"A wolf," Tom repeated, and Bellatrix nodded.

"She seemed very surprised that you'd settled down and gotten married. Of course, I didn't tell her that we aren't _actually_ married."

Tom touched his fingers to his forehead and said quietly, "I fucked Edna Flint three times in a deserted classroom at Hogwarts. She wasn't the first; there were a few others. I was very handsome in school, and charismatic, and I got top marks. The witches around me were attracted to that."

"Well, I can hardly blame them," Bellatrix said. Tom glared at her and reminded her,

"I am almost seventy years old."

"I know," Bellatrix nodded, but Tom continued,

"The only person in any existence I have lived who's actually mattered to me is _you_. Do you understand that?"

Bellatrix was silent. She seemed to be studying him, and Tom didn't need Legilimency to know what she was thinking. Witches had been drawn to him in his school years, and he was just as handsome now. Would she be competing for his affections in this time, in a way she hadn't had to do in other eras?

"Bellatrix." Tom reached across the counter for her hand. He gave her a sombre look and told her, "I am in love with you. With _you_. No one else."

"It's just pretend," Bellatrix protested. "We're only pretending."

"No," Tom insisted. "I am not pretending about loving you."

She pulled her hand back and mumbled, "I love you, too, My Lord."

He watched her eat her soup, and he hurried to consume his own. After they were done, he Scoured the bowls and Banished them to the cupboards. Bellatrix glanced down at herself and noted,

"I haven't got any other clothes here."

"No, I suppose you haven't." Tom stood from his stool and opened the cupboard where he kept his money. He pulled down the beat-up wooden box and pried open its lid. He counted out twenty Galleons and put them in a small velvet pouch, and when he handed them to Bellatrix, she promised,

"I'll pay you back as soon as I can."

Tom scoffed and shook his head. "Pay me back?"

Bellatrix shifted the bag of money in her hand. "I can't take charity from you, Master."

" _Tom_ ," he hissed, and Bellatrix looked confused. She cleared her throat and said,

"I thought you hated that name."

"I do, and soon enough there will be dozens who are afraid to say the words 'Lord Voldemort.' But _you_ , Bellatrix… Say it. Call me by the name I have in this place."

She looked like she was on the verge of tears, but she finally whispered,

"I'll pay you back quickly, Tom."

"I won't accept a Knut from you," he said sharply. "The coins in that box are _ours_."

Bellatrix dared to roll her eyes then, and she said, "Yes. Let's pretend to be married, and we'll share money and a flat."

Tom's nostrils flared as huffed out a breath. "As long as it's all just pretend, perhaps I'll strike things up again with Edna. You wouldn't be affected by that, would you? We're only pretending, so I can go ahead and take Edna Flint on a date, right?"

Bellatrix gasped a little, shoving the bag of coins back across the counter at him.

"Of course," she said, "by all means, Master, you must do as you please. You are the Dark Lord."

"Am I?" Tom gave her a cruel little smirk. "Only to you."

"If you don't mind, I think I'll take a shower," Bellatrix said, and she scrambled off her stool. Tom watched her enter the tiny bathroom, shutting the door rather loudly. A few moments later, he heard the water start in the shower.

He wasn't certain why he was humouring this stupid little argument. He was an old man; he'd had an entire life before she'd even been born. Of course he'd had other women. It was entirely unreasonable of her to be jealous of the years he'd spent on Earth before her existence. But then he realised that he was still young and handsome, and she was probably afraid he would abandon her for someone eager to bed the good-looking and charming Tom Riddle. That fear seemed neither unfounded nor unreasonable.

He opened the box of coins again and pulled out five more Galleons, enough to buy another pair of boots or a few pairs of knickers. He shoved the extra Galleons into the pouch on the counter, and he Banished the box of coins back into the cupboard. Then he stomped across the tiny flat, wrenched open the bathroom door, and glared at the shower curtain.

"Bella."

She yelped at the sound of his voice. There was silence then, until she said carefully,

"Yes, My Lord?"

For a long moment, Tom said nothing at all. He just listened to the sound of the water, inhaled the heady aroma of the shampoo and soap, and twirled his wand between his fingers.

"Bellatrix," he finally said again, and this time, the water shut off. Bellatrix sniffled a little from inside the shower, and he realised she'd been crying. He stopped twirling his wand and used it to send a clean towel floating above the shower curtain rod. As it flew, Tom muttered a warming spell so that it would be pleasantly heated as Bellatrix wrapped it around herself.

He tried to tell her that he didn't want anything to do with Edna Flint, not now that he had Bellatrix in this existence. He tried to tell her that other witches could bang down the door of Borgin and Burkes and he wouldn't look twice at any of them. He tried to tell her that she made his body come alive - this body and the one he'd had as a resurrected shell of himself. He tried to tell her that he rather liked the game of make-believe where they shared a flat and a surname.

But she peeled back the shower curtain, and his mouth fell open at the sight of her standing there with eyes swollen from crying, her bottom lip shaking a little, and all he said was,

"I love you."

Bellatrix shook her head and insisted, "I'm sorry, My Lord. I'm being silly. I've no right to be possessive or jealous or -"

She stopped then, for he'd tucked his wand away and put his hands on her cheeks. He bent down a little to kiss her, and he did so very carefully. He breathed in the clean, warm feel of her, and he whispered against his lips,

"I need you."

She kissed him then, taking a bit of initiative as her fingers nestled in his thick hair and pulled his face closer. He grunted a bit as she stepped out of the shower, and he pushed her up against the bathroom wall. He brought his hand to the place where she'd tucked the towel in on itself. He was about to take it off of her, to touch her and kiss her, to make love to her.

Make love.

He'd always thought of it as _fucking._ He'd _fucked_ Edna Flint and the other witches who had barely mattered even in the middle of the act. He'd _fucked_ Bellatrix for years until he became afraid of doing so. He'd _fucked_ Bellatrix in Malfoy Manor with his wretched grey body. But here, in this ridiculous, shabby excuse for a home, he didn't want to fuck her. He wanted to make love to her. He wanted to love her. He wanted…

"Bella," he whispered, and he waited until her wide dark eyes found his. He gulped and asked her, "Will you marry me?"

Bellatrix blinked. "I can't."

She was right, of course. Marriages required documentation for Ministry records. She had no birth record, no school records. She didn't really exist here. Obtaining a marriage licence would be impossible, in both the Muggle world and the magical one. Of course, he could create perfect forgeries and smuggle them into the Ministry so that nobody would be the wiser. But that was a complicated scheme. He had so many other things to worry about if he was to become the Dark Lord, if he was to make things happen properly this time. So she was right. She couldn't marry him. But he wanted that. He tipped his forehead against hers and whispered a recitation of the prophecy she'd made in 1970.

" _The witch who will aid him in crafting his firmament sits in obedient deference beside him… decades apart from him, inches away… the Dark Lord may fight it, but she is his only… the one upon whom his successes rely… Keeping her near to him, then will he triumph… the Dark Lord, the majesty hinges upon whether he can surrender his whole self to her._ "

He kissed her hard then, pushing his tongue between her lips and dragging his fingertips along her collarbone. She shivered a little as Tom pulled his face back. He brushed some of the damp curly tendrils of her hair away from her face - her very beautiful face - and he informed her,

"I mean to surrender my whole self to you, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix smiled a little, even as her eyes welled, and she asked, "So you won't be a wolf anymore?"

"In my lived existence, Bella, it has been almost a half century since I was that boy who embraced the affections of girls in school uniforms. Now, here… I am Tom Riddle, and you are Bella Riddle. Even if it's only pretend."

She nodded then, and she said, "I'll have to sleep naked tonight. I'll buy a nightgown tomorrow."

Tom smirked and played with her damp hair a little. "Buy knickers and bras and dresses and robes and socks. Don't buy nightgowns."

"No?" Bellatrix laughed, and Tom shook his head firmly.

"I'd prefer you be naked when you fall asleep in my arms every night."

She stared at him for a very long moment then, and finally she nodded. "Bella Riddle. It has a nice ring to it. Even if it's only pretend."

 **Author's Note: Angsty, angsty fluff! Now we have some idea as to why there was a vision where Tom kept asking Bellatrix to marry him and she kept saying that she couldn't. Could it be that he's a little less aggressively severe in this body? (Hint: observe the charisma and mannerisms of Tom Riddle in** _ **Chamber of Secrets**_ **and compare that with the Voldemort we see in** _ **Goblet of Fire**_ **and later.) Thank you as always for reading, and please do leave a comment if you get a quick moment.**


	27. Chapter 27

"It's raining buckets outside," Edna Flint said, staring out the front window of the tattoo parlour. Bellatrix looked up from the paper upon which she was practising, and she marveled at the sheer volume of rain pouring from the heavens.

"Wouldn't want to be out in that right now," Bellatrix said, "even with a waterproofing charm."

"How's the design coming along?" Edna stepped through the cramped little shop until she reached the table where Bellatrix was training.

"Nearly finished," Bellatrix said. She studied the instructions in the design book, then dragged her wand in a circle over the paper and murmured, " _Pintalupina._ "

The outline of a howling wolf etched itself onto the paper, siphoning Indelible ink from the little pot that Bellatrix had placed beside the paper. She smiled up at Edna and shrugged.

"I think I'm getting the hang of it."

"Well, good, because we've got a customer coming in at four this afternoon. He's agreed to let you put this wolf design on him. His name is Fenrir Greyback… he's a werewolf himself."

"Oh." Bellatrix gnawed on her lip and insisted, "I don't think I'm quite ready to actually tattoo anyone."

Edna threw up a thin brow and crossed her arms. "If I'm paying you to be here, then you're going to put tattoos on customers."

Before Bellatrix could answer, the front door of the shop opened. Edna whirled around, and Bellatrix peered around Edna's full skirt. She smiled a little at the sight of her lord and master standing in the entryway.

"Tom!" Edna exclaimed. "Come for a tattoo?"

She sounded entirely too flirtatious, and Bellatrix scowled. She tried desperately not to imagine Tom Riddle and Edna Flint in a broom cupboard, but that was difficult, since she knew it had happened. Bellatrix rose, and Tom looked passed Edna to her.

"Bella," he said, quite warmly, "It's pouring out, but I'm on a lunch break. Thought I'd see if you wanted to go next door and eat. I'm famished."

Bellatrix grinned. "That sounds wonderful, Master."

Then she froze, realising what word had slipped out of her mouth. Tom rolled his eyes, and as Edna Flint looked in open-mouthed alarm from Tom to Bellatrix and back again, he raised his wand.

" _Obliviate_ ," he said smoothly, twisting his wand. He flicked his eyes to Bellatrix, and she said softly,

"I'm sorry."

"Don't let it happen again," he said. "I can't go round altering memories left and right."

He lowered his wand, and Bellatrix knew he'd done a very thorough job when Edna turned and said in a chipper voice to Bellatrix,

"Try to stay dry!"

"Erm… yeah. Thanks. I'll be back soon." Bellatrix followed Tom out into the pouring rain. They managed to stay dry as they hustled to the covered stairwell that led up to The White Wyvern. Inside the pub, it was dark and smoky, and a rumble of thunder made the place shake a little.

"Here." Tom pulled out a chair for Bellatrix at a little table against the wall, and she sat. A rather wretched-looking witch with thin, grey hair stepped up and croaked,

"What'll it be?"

"I'd like a Butterbeer and whatever stew you've got on today," Bellatrix said, and Tom nodded.

"Same."

The witch walked off without another word. Bellatrix leaned forward and asked Tom furtively,

"You knew a werewolf called Fenrir, didn't you? In 1996?"

"I'd known him for years. Met him in the early 60s. A filthy creature, a werewolf, but he was useful enough. Why?"

"He's coming in this afternoon for a tattoo, and I'm the one to do it!" Bellatrix paused then, for the serving witch had come with two Butterbeers. Bellatrix gulped at hers. "I'm so anxious."

"You'll be fine," Tom promised her, but Bellatrix let out a shaky breath and shook her head.

"I didn't mean to call you what I did in the shop. I'm sorry."

"It's all right." Tom sipped at his own drink, and Bellatrix frowned.

"Are _you_ all right?" she asked, and Tom shrugged.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Something seems… off." Bellatrix drank more Butterbeer, and then the serving witch came and plopped two bowls of strongly-smelling fish stew on the table. Bellatrix wrinkled her nose but picked up her spoon and began to eat.

"I've been distracted today," Tom told her. "That's all."

"Distracted?" Bellatrix looked up. "What's bothering you?"

Tom shook his head and dragged his thumb along the edge of his bowl of stew.

"You'll do fine with the tattoo," he assured her. Bellatrix decided not to push him any further, and she ate the rest of her meal in silence.

* * *

"Well?" Tom asked as Bellatrix came into the flat. "How did it go?"

"That werewolf is awful," Bellatrix said, peeling off her waterproof cloak and hanging it by the door. "He smells like a corpse. He even asked me if I wanted to get bitten! The nerve of that terrible beast."

Tom smirked and asked, "But did you tattoo him?"

"Yes," Bellatrix nodded. "He now has a beautifully designed wolf on his extraordinarily hairy back. You can hardly see the tattoo, so it probably wouldn't have mattered if I'd mucked it up. But I didn't. Edna said it was well done."

Tom put his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor. He'd stripped down to a crisp white dress shirt with the first few buttons opened and a pressed pair of grey trousers, and his hair was messy, like he'd been running his fingers through it. He was impossibly attractive, Bellatrix thought.

"Do you remember when I asked you if you'd like to go on holiday with me?" Tom murmured, and Bellatrix's breath caught a little.

"Yes," she said quietly. "We agreed it was impossible, since you'd be recognised."

"But I wouldn't be recognised in this body," he said. He raised his dark eyes to her and licked his bottom lip. "I'd like to take you somewhere very pleasant. Somewhere warm and sunny… I want to feel sand between my toes. I want to see you swim in the ocean."

"My Lord." Bellatrix stepped closer to him then, and she touched her hands to his chest as she reminded him, "We're very poor here."

"I know." He nodded and took her hands from his chest, rubbing his thumbs over hers. He stared into Bellatrix's eyes and asked, "Will you marry me?"

Bellatrix felt like she was going to cry as she shook her head. "You know I can't. I don't have any papers."

"Hmm." Tom nodded. "Yes. That was… that was an issue, wasn't it?"

"Was?" Bellatrix felt uneasy now, even more so when Tom released her hands and walked over to the counter in the little kitchen. Bellatrix stood beside him as he drummed his fingers on a thin leather folio that had been sitting on the counter. He looked at the folder as he reminded her,

"The prophecy says I must give my whole self to you if I'm to succeed. Last time I lived through these years, I made mistakes. I made too many Horcruxes without knowing what damage I'd inflict upon myself. I didn't recruit followers early enough or aggressively enough. I didn't get rid of Dumbledore when I had the chance. I didn't eliminate the possibility of Harry Potter ever being born. I know now the things that have to happen. And I know that the prophecy is clear - you must be beside me, and I must give my whole self to you."

He opened the folio then, and Bellatrix watched in wonder as he pulled out some very convincing-looking documentation.

"Bella Townsend, born 21 September, 1930 in New York City. Father was an English Muggle and mother was an American witch. This is an American Muggle birth certificate."

He set the parchment down, and Bellatrix studied it. It certainly looked real. It would be very difficult to prove it was a fake. Tom picked up another piece of paper and said,

"Certificate of graduation from Ilvermorny."

"Wait." Bellatrix shook her head and waited for Tom to look at her. She shrugged. "If I marry you with these false documents, then it isn't really _me_ marrying you, is it?"

He didn't answer for a long while. Finally, he shrugged and said, "There are marriage rites that can be performed in private, but it wouldn't be official with the Ministry."

"Master." Bellatrix shut her eyes and thought of the time he'd come to her bedroom in the middle of the night. He'd been very troubled then, in his grey-faced form. Bellatrix opened her eyes and saw the same look of irritated sadness in Tom Riddle's dark eyes. She shook her head and said, "We just have to pretend, don't we?"

He silently put the forgeries he'd made back into the leather folio, which he shut and then tucked into a wide drawer beneath the counter. He sighed and said,

"I think I'll go for a walk."

"It's pouring rain," Bellatrix reminded him, but Tom shrugged.

"It's only water. I'll be back soon."

Before she could stop him, he'd made his way out the door of the little flat, still wearing nothing over his unbuttoned white shirt. The door shut so hard that Bellatrix flinched, and as soon as Tom had gone, she sank into the ratty old armchair and began to cry.

 **Author's Note: I promise that we'll get to see some ACTION in the next chapter… I'm looking forward to writing that one! :} Thank you so much for reading, and a thousand thanks for the feedback.**


	28. Chapter 28

"Thank you for agreeing to meet me." Tom sipped from his wooden mug of mulled wine, carefully setting it on the filthy table. He stared across the table, through the flickering candlelight, at the face of Albus Dumbledore.

"Well, I had to give you my congratulations in person, Tom," Dumbledore said. "Horace Slughorn tells me you've got yourself a wife."

"So I have," Tom nodded, taking a brief moment to ensure that his Occlumency shields were up tightly. Dumbledore blinked a few times, and Tom knew that Dumbledore was very aware this meeting had nothing to do with a teaching position. He glanced down to where his wand was sitting on the marled wooden bench beside him. Albus Dumbledore sipped his own drink and said,

"It is a peculiar thing… you know, the Headmistress of Ilvermorny and I are old friends. I felt compelled to write to her and inform her that a newly graduated witch, Bella, had become engaged to Hogwarts' own Head Boy."

Tom smirked a little and nodded. "Was she pleased at the news?"

"She was rather perplexed!" Dumbledore said. "You see, she hasn't had a student by the name of Bella in over thirty years. So she was rather confused. I wrote back that perhaps this witch has simply aged with grace and is older than I'd thought."

"Aged with grace." Tom sipped from his mulled wine again, struggling to keep his hand from shaking. He glanced up to where Aberforth Dumbledore was half heartedly running a dry rag over the grime-encrusted bar. Tom sighed and turned his eyes back to Dumbledore, who asked calmly,

"Who is she, Tom?"

"She's the key that opens the door," Tom replied. He dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, lowering his right hand to his side. Dumbledore narrowed his eyes behind his half-moon spectacles, and Tom informed him, "As for aging with grace… let's just say you didn't do that very well. _Stupefy! STUPEFY!_ "

His breath shook as he slid out from the bench at the table. He had to move very quickly now. He'd managed to Stun both Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore before his old enemy could even pull out his wand. Tom rushed behind the bar to where Aberforth Dumbledore had collapsed. He rifled through Aberforth's robes until he found a beat-up wand. He pulled it out and aimed it over the bar at the slumped form of Albus Dumbledore. Tom's heart raced and his breath was ragged with excitement as he aimed Aberforth's wand at Albus.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " Tom cried, and a blinding green flash of light filled the dirty Hog's Head Inn. Tom stood shaking with glee as he took a moment to watch for any signs of life. No one had seen him Apparate into this room, Tom knew. No one except for Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore. He'd written to Dumbledore anonymously and had magically altered his penmanship; no one would be able to prove he'd been here. And now Albus Dumbledore was dead.

Albus Dumbledore was dead.

Tom wrapped Aberforth's fingers around his own wand. Then Tom pulled out his own wand again and Scoured Aberforth's hand and wand. He stood and aimed his wand down at Aberforth's head.

" _Obliviate,_ " he murmured, twisting his wand. He searched through Aberforth's mind and backtracked to the moment Tom had Apparated into the Hog's Head. He focused hard on replacing the memory. He built up a complex debate between Aberforth and Albus about Gellert Grindelwald, about why Albus Dumbledore had let his old lover live. Tom put in a scene where Aberforth called his brother a coward. Then Albus raised his wand, and Aberforth impulsively cast the Killing Curse.

Tom lowered his wand, knowing that Aberforth would rouse on his own from having been Stunned within minutes. He walked briskly around the bar and Vanished his wooden cup of mulled wine from the table where he'd been sitting with Albus Dumbledore. He studied Dumbledore's body and nodded.

"Goodbye, you old bastard," he whispered, and he Disapparated from where he stood.

* * *

"Bella."

Tom came storming into Markus Scarr's tattoo parlour, and Bellatrix looked up from the paper where she was practising designs. She looked confused at the way Tom had blustered into the shop.

"You all right, Tom?" asked Edna Flint. Tom glanced at his reflection in a tarnished mirror on the wall and realised his cheeks were flushed red, as if he'd run miles. Tom studied Edna for a moment, feeling nothing but revulsion for some reason. He nonverbally Confounded Edna, who vibrated where she stood.

"Bella," Edna said cheerfully, "You've done fine work today. You can go ahead home, if you like."

Bellatrix seemed very suspicious, but she nodded and rose from where she'd been working. "Thanks, Edna."

Bellatrix came up to the front of the shop, and Tom seized her hand in his, which was shaking like mad. She seemed a little frightened as she told Edna,

"Have a good evening."

"Bye," Edna said, humming a little tune as she counted coins in the till. Tom yanked on Bellatrix as he left the tattoo parlour.

"What's going on?" she hissed, but he didn't answer as they walked to the building next door. Up the threadbare carpeted stairs they went, and all the while, Tom's heart accelerated. They finally reached his flat, and his fingers were shaking so badly that Bellatrix took the key from him and opened the door herself. Once they were inside, Tom slammed the door and leaned back against it, and he laughed harder than he'd ever laughed before.

"What's happened?" Bellatrix asked frantically. Tom took her face in his hands and crushed her mouth with a deep kiss, and when he pulled away, he whispered,

"He's dead. Albus Dumbledore is dead."

Bellatrix's pretty eyes went wide and round. She reached up to hold onto the front of Tom's robes, and she asked,

"What do you mean?"

He curled up half his mouth and told her, "I covered my tracks. I met with him in the Hog's Head. Stupefied him and his idiot brother. I used Aberforth's wand to kill Albus Dumbledore. Aberforth will be in Azkaban by tomorrow. I've done this before. It worked the first time. I know… this time… I'm going to win. I'm going to own everything in this world. Albus Dumbledore is gone. He's dead. He's out of my way."

Bellatrix's grin was bright enough to illuminate every darkness in the world then. She laughed nervously, squeezing at Tom's robes. He bent to kiss her again, and he grunted in surprise when Bellatrix's tongue thrust up between his lips. He sucked on it until she squealed, and his hands caressed her soft face. He was overcome with elation, with happiness far beyond anything he'd ever felt.

Suddenly Bellatrix wrenched herself away, and started to descend to her knees. Tom frowned, panting as his heart thumped, and he asked,

"What are you doing?"

The look she gave him then nearly buckled his knees. Her eyes were heavy with desire as she reached into his robes and fumbled with the buttons of his trousers.

"What are you doing, Bellatrix?" Tom asked again, and she answered in a breathy, low voice,

"I am worshipping my master."

"Oh." He leaned back against the door again, letting his jaw fall open as Bellatrix finally succeeded in unbuttoning his trousers. She pushed them down a little, along with his underwear. He'd gone hard as she worked, but his organ firmed up even more when Bellatrix pulled him out. She moaned, like he was doing something to _her_ , and she kissed the tip of Tom's cock. He burrowed his fingers deeply into her hair.

 _You used to like when I did this_ , he'd told her in 1996. He'd spent years of his life playing with her hair by then. But this was different. They were here, together, young, with all the possibilities of Lord Voldemort's power and success before them. Her hair felt softer, somehow. Her curls caressed his fingers as he twined through them.

"Mmm… Oh, Master. My Lord, My Lord…" Bellatrix sounded like she was about to climax as she planted kisses up and down the shaft of Tom's cock. He was surprised by her bravery then, for she delved deeply onto him, so deeply that he felt his tip hit the back of her throat. She didn't gag. She didn't do anything except moan and make swallowing motions, and Tom gasped. He tightened his fingers in her hair, and she started to plunge his cock in and out of her mouth, her hand trailing behind.

"Bellatrix." He felt like his heart would give out, like he'd faint. He tipped his head back against the door and pushed his hips forward a little on instinct. This felt good, _so_ good, and he knew he was going to finish any moment. He gulped and whispered, "He's dead. He's dead. I've killed him."

"Master…" Bellatrix whispered, her breath warm on the skin of his shaft. Tom groaned then, low and long, and he felt everything draw up tightly between his legs. He was seconds away from the edge, and he thought of telling Bellatrix to pull her mouth off of him. Instead he looked down, and she looked up, and their eyes locked together. She squeezed her throat around his tip again, and Tom lost control.

"Bellatrix!" he growled. He jabbed his cock so deeply down her throat that any other witch would have been sick. But Bellatrix's hands flew up to his stomach and squeezed at his robes, and her voice vibrated on his skin as he came. If she was bothered by the taste of his come, she showed no sign of it. She acted instead as if he were nourishing her, as if she'd been given a delicious treat. She drank it all down, every last wonderful jet of it. Tom's head slammed against the door as his back arched, and he knew he must be hurting her head with how hard he was holding her.

It took a very long while to come down from his high - much longer than usual. Finally, after a veritable eternity, Bellatrix let his softening cock slide out of her mouth, and her hands were gentle and soft as she tucked him back into his trousers.

"He's dead," Tom whispered breathlessly, helping Bellatrix to her feet. He saw tears streaming down her face, but she smiled at him and nodded.

"Why are you crying?" Tom demanded, too sharply. Bellatrix swiped at the tears and told him,

"Because I'm so happy. I'm so proud, so… so amazed by you, and I…"

"Please marry me," Tom said impulsively. Bellatrix's broad smile faltered a little, and she reminded him,

"I can't."

"Yes, you can." Tom nodded and said, "It wouldn't be on file with the Ministry, but what will that matter when Lord Voldemort reigns over wizarding Britain? We can do it ourselves. Alone. In private. It'll be just as real. I don't want to pretend."

He seized her face in his hands and bent enough to touch his forehead to hers. Bellatrix looked a little frightened, but Tom ignored that as he recited the last part of the prophecy she'd delivered to him.

" _The Dark Lord, the majesty hinges upon whether he can surrender his whole self to her._ I need to be your husband, Bellatrix."

He pulled her against his chest, and she said numbly,

"Your heart's going a thousand miles an hour."

"Bella." Tom rubbed between her shoulder blades and said, "I've killed Dumbledore. It'll all be mine. I need you beside me. I need to hear you say that you'll do it. That you'll marry me."

Bellatrix pulled back a little and nodded resolutely up at him.

"Yes, Tom," she said. "I will marry you."

 **Author's Note: So Dumbledore's dead and these two are officially engaged, despite being decades apart and inches away… ;) Now what? Thanks as always for reading, and many many many thanks to those who have left feedback.**


	29. Chapter 29

"Well? What do you think, Mr Avery?"

"Coleman, please." The auburn-haired young wizard gave Bellatrix a winning smile, which felt awkward considering that she'd known him as one of her father's friends growing up. She cleared her throat a little as Avery turned his bare torso to examine his shoulder in the mirror. He grinned. "Looks fantastic. Well done."

"It is a good one, I think," Bellatrix agreed. She studied the magical tattoo she'd placed on Avery's shoulder, which was of an angry-looking storm cloud from which sheets of tattooed rain fell. Every now and then, a lightning bolt crashed down his arm. Bellatrix smiled a bit as Avery pulled on his stretchy grey shirt and his outer robe.

"Bella," he said carefully. "Can't believe I've never met you before."

She froze and shook her head, unsure of what to say. Fortunately, Edna rescued her from where she stood designing a new tattoo at a table.

"Back off of her, Coleman; she's taken."

Coleman Avery's brows went up, and he asked playfully, "Who's the lucky wizard, so I can fight him?"

"Tom Riddle," Bellatrix said, and Avery's grin vanished. Edna cackled a little from where she sat.

"Reckon you won't be fighting him, eh?"

"No." Avery seemed very serious then, and Bellatrix said softly to him,

"I'm sure he'd like to hear from you again, Mr Avery. He's going to do marvelous things, you know."

Avery's eyes went wide, but he said, "I think we all knew he would. He works at Borgin and Burkes, right?"

"Yes," Bellatrix nodded. "He'd like it if you stopped in, I think."

"I'll do that," Avery nodded. "As soon as I leave here. I'll go straight there."

Bellatrix nodded once more and patted the shoulder she'd tattooed. "Be sure to use some Butterfly Weed Balm once a day on it. You know the drill; you've had a few of these."

"Quite so." Avery stood and bowed his head, almost reverently, at Bellatrix. Edna went up to the front desk and took Avery's money, and once he'd gone, Edna smirked at Bellatrix and said,

"Lucky girl. All you have to do to get the boys off you is tell them who your husband is."

"I know what you did with him," Bellatrix blurted, and Edna's mouth fell open. Bellatrix shrugged. "Empty classrooms."

"I…" Edna cleared her throat and insisted, "It was years ago. He very quickly and very thoroughly lost interest in me."

"Don't worry about it," Bellatrix said seriously. "Mind if I go get some lunch?"

"No. You… erm… take a good long break." Edna seemed mildly frightened now, and Bellatrix liked the sense of power she'd picked up. She made her way next door to the White Wyvern and settled into a table near a dirty window. It was freezing cold outside today, but the pub was toasty from the multiple fireplaces that were raging. There was a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ at the table where Bellatrix said, and she curled up half her mouth when she saw the headline.

 _ALBUS DUMBLEDORE SLAIN - BROTHER SUSPECTED OF MURDER!_

"What'll it be?" The cantankerous, middle-aged witch who was always working snapped at Bellatrix.

"Have you got roast beef today?" Bellatrix asked, and the witch shook her head.

"Mutton."

"That'll do," Bellatrix said, "with a Butterbeer."

"Straight away." The witch sauntered off, and Bellatrix immediately set to reading the newspaper article.

 _Albus Dumbledore, renowned for his defeat of Gellert Grindelwald, was found dead in Hogsmeade early this morning._

 _Dumbledore, who was awarded the Order of Merlin (First Class) and served as Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts, was noticed missing by fellow teacher Horace Slughorn, who went to Dumbledore's quarters late last night with a question._

' _I had sought out Albus with a technical inquiry,' Slughorn said. 'He was positively brilliant with Transfiguration, and I was having difficulty altering the design of the bed curtains in my quarters. When he did not answer his door, I thought perhaps he was asleep.'_

 _However, Slughorn says, he became suspicious when he noticed that Dumbledore's traveling cloak, which usually hung in his office, was missing. After speaking with Headmaster Armando Dippet and other teachers, it was determined that no one knew where Albus Dumbledore was. The next logical inquiry was with his brother, Aberforth, who keeps inn at the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade Village._

' _It was horrifying to find him the way we did,' Dippet said, 'and Aberforth was just rocking back and forth, utterly drunk. He claimed not to understand what had happened.'_

 _Aurors were summoned at once, and they inspected Aberforth's wand, which showed evidence of having cast the Killing Curse. Aberforth Dumbledore claimed that he and his brother had been arguing about Grindelwald when Aberforth unexpectedly and inexplicably lashed out and killed his brother Albus._

' _This death has rocked the Hogwarts community,' Dippet said, 'and I'm very sure it will have immeasurable effect on the wizarding community at large. We are still attempting to process the loss of our incredibly talented, warm-hearted, and courageous colleague.'_

 _Minister for Magic Wilhelmina Tuft confirmed that Aberforth Dumbledore will be tried for murder by the Wizengamot. His trial is scheduled for early next week. If he is found guilty, he will be sentenced to either life in Azkaban Prison or immediate administration of the Dementor's Kiss. His wand is being more closely examined prior to the trial. Albus Dumbledore will be buried on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with a small, private funeral for students, staff, and friends only._

"Is this seat taken?"

Bellatrix snapped her eyes up, and she grinned as Tom stared down at her. She folded the newspaper and set it down, and she tipped her head.

"I'm actually waiting for my incredibly handsome, older boyfriend," she teased. Tom smirked a little and sat. He glanced over to the serving witch, and Bellatrix watched her buzz a little where she stood. She scoffed and demanded of Tom, "Did you just Confound her into bringing you food?"

"Mmm-hmm. Avery came into the shop," Tom said, folding his hands on the table. "He said you'd sent him."

"Are you cross with me?" Bellatrix asked, and Tom's brows flew up.

"For recruiting? No. Absolutely not. I was pleased with his enthusiasm. I mean to move more quickly this time. I left for years last time. I don't have to leave now; I have all the knowledge I need. Recruitment begins as soon as possible."

"Have you seen this?" Bellatrix held up the newspaper, and Tom nodded. He seemed very happy then, and his breath shook as he let out a sigh.

"I want to go to Monte Carlo with you."

"Monte Carlo." Bellatrix laughed and shook her head. There was a sizeable wizarding community in Monte Carlo; there was even a beautiful and expensive wizarding resort tucked away from Muggle view right on the Mediterranean. Bellatrix had visited with her family as a child, but now… "We're too poor."

"I know." Tom huffed out a breath and chewed his lip until Bellatrix worried it would bleed. He shrugged and suggested, "What if we went to a Muggle hotel there?"

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes, confused. "What, you're going to counterfeit Muggle money?"

"Have you some sort of moral objection to that?" Tom snapped. "I want to celebrate."

Bellatrix sighed. "I don't think Edna would -"

"I think that most people, under an Imperius Curse, will do just about anything," Tom retorted. Bellatrix's mouth fell open then, but she couldn't say anything, for the serving witch had come back with two plates of mutton and potato and two Butterbeers. Tom handed over a few Sickles, and once the witch had gone, he said very matter-of-factly to Bellatrix,

"I would like very much to take you to Monte Carlo and marry you there. Mr Borgin has already granted me ten days' leave whenever I want it. I was exceptionally polite in asking. I think Edna will come round. I don't even think she'll need an Imperius Curse. Just a bit of... charm."

Bellatrix thought back to the vaguely fearful look on Edna's face when Bellatrix had revealed what she knew, and she nodded.

"You're probably right."

"I think it's best to let this whole hullabaloo with Dumbledore settle down before I begin actively recruiting," Tom said. "Otherwise, I'll look opportunistic, and if I look opportunistic, I will look -"

"Guilty," Bellatrix finished, and Tom nodded.

"But a belated honeymoon," he suggested with a shrug. "No one would begrudge us that. I already have a hundred thousand francs carefully… erm… made."

"Counterfeited," Bellatrix corrected him, and Tom gave her a bit of a glare. He started eating his food and said nothing for a while. Bellatrix finally sighed and asked in a whisper, "Will you help me, Master? I don't know how to live in the Muggle world."

"We'll be going to a luxury resort," he informed her. "Waited on hand and foot. We'll be gambling in a casino where I can look into the Muggles' minds. There's a beach. It'll be loads of fun. And I will marry you. Alone, just the two of us, on a balcony at sunset."

He'd thought a lot about this, Bellatrix realised. He sipped at his Butterbeer and stared out the dirty window. Bellatrix followed the path of his gaze down onto the grubby, dark, cold alley. Suddenly, Monaco sounded very nice, Muggle or otherwise.

"I would very much enjoy going to Monte Carlo with you," Bellatrix said, reaching for his hand. He set down his fork and told her,

"You'll need… Muggle clothes."

"Muggle clothes," she repeated. "I… I can shop here in London, right?"

"Yes. I have Muggle pounds for that," Tom said simply, and Bellatrix smirked. Counterfeiting wizarding money was almost impossible, because each coin was steeped with goblin magic. And their jobs paid what they paid, so they were poor in the wizarding world. But Muggles were easily deceived. Some wizards would have had scruples keeping them from creating fake Muggle money and spending it on real things, but Tom - _Lord Voldemort -_ would always do whatever he needed to do to get what he wanted. It was one of the things Bellatrix admired most about him. He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out some folded notes. He handed them over to Bellatrix and said,

"This is fifty pounds. If you shop wisely, it'll get you all the dresses you need. Ask the lady in the shop what's in fashion for this season. Don't forget a bathing costume."

Bellatrix was a little embarrassed as she took the counterfeit money. She tucked it away and nodded her thanks.

"How will we get there?" she asked.

"Portkeys," he said simply. "One to Paris, and one from Paris to Monte Carlo. I've already arranged that with the travel agency in Diagon Alley. That bit I can afford; it's only six Galleons for the two of us. I'll go to a Muggle telegraph office tonight and reserve a room at the Hotel de Paris."

Bellatrix shut her eyes, feeling awfully confused. She hadn't even been born in this time, and now she was gallivanting off to Muggle Monte Carlo with Lord Voldemort… who wanted to marry her. It was almost too much to absorb, and she felt a little dizzy.

"Bella."

She opened her eyes to see that Tom seemed very concerned.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she lied, and Tom narrowed his eyes.

"Sorry… do you not to want to go?" he asked, and Bellatrix just shrugged.

"I'm overwhelmed."

His dark eyes softened considerably then, and he nodded. "I understand. But once the dust settles about Dumbledore, I'll need to move assertively. I think we'll be grateful for this little break, looking back on it. Besides… I don't want to marry you standing in the flat here in Knockturn Alley. If it has to be private, then I mean for it to be… to be…"

"Special?" Bellatrix prompted, and Tom nodded vigorously. Suddenly Bellatrix remembered him, grey-faced and flat-nosed, telling her that he hadn't wanted her to feel special, that he'd lied about having other witches so that Bellatrix wouldn't feel special.

"Things are different now," he whispered, and she wondered if he'd been inside of her mind. He squeezed at her hand and seemed anxious as he hissed, "This time, I am in love with you. I am starting over with every advantage on my side. I have you here with me. I… I need to marry you properly. So let's go to Monte Carlo."

"All right," Bellatrix nodded. She glanced down at the bland mutton on her plate and figured that the food in Monaco would be much better, even made by Muggles. She smiled a little at Tom and said firmly, "Let's go to Monte Carlo."

 **Author's Note: Raise your hand if you're looking forward to Tom Riddle in a tuxedo, cheating in a Monaco casino! Mwah hahahaha...**


	30. Chapter 30

"So… zis ees your suite, Monsieur Riddle. Madame, will you be requiring ze services of a maid?"

Bellatrix stared wide-eyed at the mustachioed Muggle who had brought their luggage to an elegant white-and-blue, toile-bedecked set of rooms. Bellatrix shook her head a little, and Tom said smoothly,

"I think we'll get along fine. Thank you."

"Simply pick up ze telephone if you 'ave any needs at all. Please do enjoy your stay 'ere at ze Hôtel-de-Paris. Welcome to Monte-Carlo. Good day." The man snapped his crisp jacket and left, and once the door shut behind him, Tom gave Bellatrix a shy smile. He walked over to the double window and pulled it open, and he felt the cool breeze off the Mediterranean come washing over him. He stared at the hill below, at the villas and palm trees, and down to the crystal blue sea.

"It's not so bad, is it?" he asked, and Bellatrix appeared beside him.

"It's lovely, Master."

He turned his face to her and felt a sudden throb of want. She was so beautiful, here more than ever. Her curls were blowing around her face in the breeze, and she'd worn a short-sleeved dress, black satin with a full skirt, that made her body look almost unfathomably feminine.

"Bella," he murmured softly, "can we…"

He glanced to the bed, which had an elegant white coverlet, and then back to Bellatrix. She hesitated and finally admitted,

"I'm… I'm still bleeding."

"Still?" Tom blurted the word before he thought about it. He narrowed his eyes and counted days. It had been over a week since she'd told him that they couldn't have sex because she was bleeding. Nine days, in fact. Tom shook his head in confusion and opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped when he saw that Bellatrix's eyes had welled up.

"We made a mistake," she whispered. "Back in 1970. We forgot once… to cast a charm."

"Wait." Tom's heart began to race. "You… you were…"

"Yes, I've miscarried," Bellatrix snarled with a mix of hurt and humiliation. She crossed her arms and stared with a huff out the window. "Don't worry, My Lord; if it hadn't happened on its own, I would have taken care of it with a potion."

"Oh." Tom gulped and shook his head, shutting his eyes. "It happened before. The first time you and I were... together."

His stomach twisted painfully all of a sudden, and his eyes seared at the awful memory. He didn't open his eyes. He couldn't. He just said quietly,

"You were, erm… you were twenty-four. You'd been taking contraceptive potion once a month and you, erm, forgot. We'd actually somewhat come to grips with the idea of it all when…"

He trailed off then, remembering the keen of Bellatrix's voice, the vibrant red blood on his bed sheets, the sensation of grief that he'd never experienced before or since. Tom opened his eyes to see Bellatrix swiping a knuckle beneath her eye.

"Is that why you married me off to Rodolphus?"

"It was one of the reasons," Tom said truthfully. It had been, too. He'd realised after that ordeal that he'd cared entirely too much for Bellatrix. Now he stared out the window at the sea below, and he asked very frankly, "Is the bleeding improving, at least? Are you… you know, are you feeling all right?"

"I think it'll be over soon," Bellatrix said in a breathy whisper.

"Someday," Tom said quietly, "The timing may be right, and you… Listen. You are very young, Bellatrix. You're only nineteen. Perhaps ten years from now, there might be a discussion to be had on the matter. But not now."

"I understand, Master," Bellatrix murmured. "I'd be the worst mother in the history of the world, anyway."

Tom decided that a change of subject was more than in order, and he sighed as he noted,

"You brought a lot of clothes with you. You must have managed some serious bargains in Muggle London. That, or I miscalculated costs."

"Erm… actually, I robbed people," Bellatrix said. Tom laughed as he turned to her and shrugged.

"You _what_?"

Bellatrix gave him a nervous grin and admitted, "There was a Muggle couple walking down the sidewalk. They were dressed very nicely. She had a fur coat, and he had a cane with an ivory handle. I Confounded them into giving me all their cash. Oh, and I took the woman's handbag. I rather liked it."

Tom laughed so hard then that his stomach hurt, and he asked, "Well, how much money did they give you?"

"Two hundred pounds," Bellatrix said proudly. "Got a lot with that. That's how I bought the gown I'm going to wear to the casino tonight."

Tom smirked. "You've got something special for tonight, have you?"

Bellatrix nodded. "The woman in the shop said it was _fresh off the runway_. I'm not sure what exactly she meant, but I like how it looks on. She did have to hem it. I'm so damned short."

"Well, I don't mind you being short." Tom wrapped his arms around her shoulders and tipped his forehead against hers. "I'm not as tall in this body."

"But you have got a nose," Bellatrix pointed out, and Tom couldn't help but silently laugh. He shook his head a little and said,

"I am very much looking forward to cheating those Muggles out of all sort of money. Let's go have dinner and rob them blind with Legilimency, eh?"

"I call first dibs in the bathroom," Bellatrix insisted, and Tom nodded. He watched her pull a garment bag and a cosmetics container out of her Expanded leather suitcase, and his chest hurt a little. He studied her pretty hair, her narrow waist, and he thought she was the most beautiful witch who had ever lived. His breath caught in his throat, and he called after her,

"Bellatrix."

She turned around, her full lips parted, her curls still blowing in the breeze from the open window. Tom took a steadying breath, remembering what exactly had helped her the first time he'd lived through this, and he approached her. He pulled out his wand and aimed it at her lower abdomen.

" _Finite Abortivum. Finite Sanguinalum._ "

He tucked his wand away as Bellatrix quietly gasped and stared down at herself. Then she nodded, almost resolutely, and she said,

"Thank you, My Lord."

"Get dressed. I'd like an early seating for dinner," Tom said, and he turned and walked away toward his own suitcase.

* * *

Tom ran his comb through his hair a few more times and studied his reflection in the mirror. His black tie tuxedo fit perfectly, and even he had to admit he looked sharp.

"Ready, Master?"

He turned at the sound of her voice, and then he knew that he was standing there with his mouth gaping open like a fish.

She was incomprehensibly beautiful.

She wore a gown of black taffeta, off-the-shoulder with full skirts that swished as she walked toward him. She had on elbow-length gloves in black satin, and her dark hair had been tamed into sleek waves that cascaded around her shoulders. She wore violently scarlet lipstick, and she'd lined her eyes heavily. She had on the golden clock pendant he'd bought her, which didn't quite match the outfit, but made his heart race just the same.

"Do I look all right?" Bellatrix asked, sounding unsure of herself. Tom gulped, struggling past the massive knot in his throat, and he said very honestly,

"In all the years I've known you, Bella, you have never looked quite this... good."

She laughed a bit and tipped her head. "I'll take that as a compliment, Master. I'm a little worried, taking you down there in that tuxedo. You'll have Muggle women falling all over you."

"Well, I won't notice them. I'll be entirely too busy beating the men off of you," he replied, and Bellatrix giggled a bit.

"Why don't we just hold onto one another, and we'll keep each other safe, My Lord?"

"Yes," he nodded. "Yes, I like that idea."

They rode down the elevator in nervous silence, and then they walked through the elegant lobby to the restaurant. Dinner seemed to fly by; the courses were replaced the instant Tom and Bellatrix finished with them. There was hardly room for conversation, and, in any case, they were both a little on edge. Finally, whilst eating a pistachio cream tart, Tom asked Bellatrix,

"Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes." She nodded and raised her eyes to him. "It's all… erm… the spells worked."

He'd made her stop bleeding, she meant. He sipped from his third glass of wine and nodded.

"Yes, well. The Healer in 1975 seemed very certain that that would help, so…"

He drummed his fingers on the table, staring at his own hand in wonderment. His skin was tight with youth, but he was not young. He would be turning seventy in… well, he wasn't so sure about timelines anymore. When New Year's Eve came round at last, he would mark his seventieth birthday and his twenty-fourth at the same time. He glanced across the table to Bellatrix, to _this_ Bellatrix who'd only known him once, who hadn't yet lived through the war he'd lost.

They were starting over, the both of them. He would do things right this time round.

"Bella," he said quietly, and she just nodded across the little table. He cleared his throat a little and reached into the jacket of his tuxedo. His fingers touched cool metal, and he hesitated for a moment. Then he pulled his hand out and hurried to push the ring in his hand onto Bellatrix's left fourth finger. He pulled away from her and heaved an anxious sigh as she studied the ring.

"Master… _Tom_ ," she breathed, shaking her head in awe. She studied the diamond ring and asked the most reasonable question given the circumstances. "How did you afford this?"

"I've had it… for a very long time," Tom said honestly. He shut his eyes and admitted, "I kept it in a drawer in my office at Malfoy Manor. It wasn't disturbed during the years that I was without a body. Once I had a form again, I put it in a pocket. I wasn't going to… to bring it back in time, but… Nagini told me I should."

He stared at Bellatrix then, and she looked disbelieving as she wondered, "When did you buy it?"

He licked his bottom lip and said truthfully, "Nineteen seventy-five. I had it made. I was going to give to you on your twenty-fourth birthday, but I rather lost my nerve."

Bellatrix seemed confused. "But I married Rodolphus…"

"Yes. I bought the ring, and having it became the last straw. I knew I couldn't give it to you, or at least that's what I thought at the time, so. I almost gave it to Rodolphus, as a sort of wedding gift, but I knew I wouldn't be able to bear seeing my ring on your finger with you married to him. Anyway. I hope you like it."

"It's perfect, Master." Bellatrix examined the platinum ring, with its sizeable round centre stone, the halo of small black diamonds around it, and she smiled. The ring fit even over her glove, Tom noticed. Her hands were probably a little smaller now than they'd been when he'd bought the ring, when she'd been twenty-three and everything had been different. He could always shrink it a little if need be. For now, it looked beautiful there on her finger, a proper engagement ring. He felt sick, though, nauseated beyond belief, and he noted aloud,

"I have waited more than twenty years to give that ring to you."

Bellatrix waited to answer, for the Muggle servers came to whisk their empty dessert plates away. Tom patiently counted out paper notes to pay the cheque, and when he rose and went to Bellatrix's chair, she wound her arm into his and told him,

"I'm very glad you kept the ring. Glad Nagini made you bring it. Because I'll it wear forever now. I love you, My Lord."

She said that last bit in a low whisper, and he was so tempted to kiss her that he barely stopped himself. But he managed to just nod and tell her,

"It's only a short walk to the casino, and the night is mild."

* * *

"You actually know how to play this game?" Bellatrix looked completely befuddled by the action at the roulette table. Tom smirked at her and sipped from his benedictine cocktail.

"Of course I know how to play," he said, making his voice sound offended. "Do you honestly think I'd walk in blind?"

Bellatrix scoffed and sipped from her red wine. He watched her ring glitter against the black satin of her glove, and his heart quickened. He took a seat at the table, setting his drink before him, and as he plunked down some chips, he said to the dealer,

"Dozen bet on five."

He glanced to Bellatrix, who seemed very confused, and then around the table, where the other gamblers seemed baffled by the young man who would so readily bet on the number with the highest house edge. But Tom calmly sipped from his drink and watched the dealer set the ball and wheel rolling.

Then, using nonverbal magic, he concentrated hard on controlling both the ball and wheel, dragging the ball toward the five number. When the wheel stopped, the ball plinked into the five slot, and Tom smirked.

"Oh, very well done!" said a Muggle man in a French accent, and Tom shrugged.

"It's all chance," he insisted, taking the winnings dealt to him. He looked to Bellatrix, who seemed to understand now the way that Tom was using magic to manipulate the game. He deliberately lost the next round, in order to avoid suspicion. In fact, he placed a small bet and then used magic to land the ball as far away as possible from him winning. But the next time round, he put down fifteen chips and said,

"Street bet. Transversale Plein. Ten, Sixteen, Twenty-Eight."

Bellatrix was holding her breath beside him, and the older Muggle men at the table were ogling him as though he were insane. But Tom stayed very calm as he used magic to draw the ball to the ten slot. People began to gather round as word spread that a very young man had placed a high bet at the roulette table. When the ball landed in the sixteen slot, the crowd grew, and people started murmuring. Tom knew he was walking on thin ice here; even without knowledge of his magic, the Muggles could call him out for cheating somehow. So he feigned enormous shock and glee when he wandlessly pulled the ball into the twenty-eight slot.

People clapped raucously as the dealer exchanged his chips for higher-value ones. Tom grinned as he took the chips, and he shrugged and said,

"Walk away on top, right? Goodnight."

He left his empty cocktail tumbler on the table, and he wordlessly walked toward the cashier. Bellatrix hustled beside him, her taffeta gown swishing as she walked, and she hissed,

"Master, did you -"

"Not here," he mumbled. He cashed in his chips, feeling elated at the way the cashier counted more than three hundred thousand francs into his hands. He tucked it away into his money clip, and he kept quiet as he and Bellatrix walked back to the hotel.

"You really do look so handsome," Bellatrix murmured on the sidewalk. "You looked very handsome there in your tuxedo, your magic pouring out of you."

He smirked a little, hearing waves crash on the rocks below, unable to see much of the ocean in the dark. Back up in the suite, he took his time undressing, peeling off his jacket, then his tie and waistcoat and shirt. He was in socks and trousers when Bellatrix came over, standing beside him in nothing but a skimpy black silk slip. She held up her hand, upon which she'd put the diamond ring, and she asked seriously,

"Why didn't you give it to me when you first asked me to marry you?"

"I'm not the type to get down on a knee and ply you with jewelry," Tom said seriously, unbuttoning his trousers. "I needed you to agree to it on principle, if that makes sense."

"It does," she said. She watched him Banish his tuxedo into the wardrobe, and as he pulled on black flannel trousers, she said, "I'm afraid to go to sleep."

Tom turned over his shoulder. "Why?"

"I'm afraid that I'll wake up without you," she replied. Tom let out a long sigh and shook his head.

"No. This is it," he said confidently. "I can tell. All those other roads led here. I just know it's true."

Bellatrix looked almost sad then as she stared down at her hand and back up to Tom.

"Nagini told you to bring this?"

He smirked and asked, "Remember when I flung her at the wall of my office? She was telling not to forget the ring when I… when I took you back."

"Oh," Bellatrix breathed. She licked her lip carefully and said, "The bleeding's stopped. I can… you know… we could…"

"I'll be gentle," Tom promised, and Bellatrix looked a bit breathless then. Tom approached her, took her face in his hands, and murmured against her lips, "I will not be gentle with anyone else. Ever. They'll all know my wrath. My power. But you, Bellatrix… I'll be gentle with you, hmm?"

"Yes, Master," she whispered, and he kissed her as she backed up toward the bed.

 **Author's Note: Whew! Lots of drama! Miscarriage! Engagement ring! Hot Tom Riddle in a tux cheating at roulette! And now we have a definite lemon coming up! Woo hoo!**

 **I can see hundreds of hits on the last chapter (which is awesome), but only one review. I realize I post quickly, so people are less likely to review. I just want to make sure that people aren't disappointed in the direction of the story, so if you're reading and you have a spare moment to leave a comment, I would be exceedingly grateful. Thank you so much.**


	31. Chapter 31

"Bellatrix…"

His voice was like silk in the air, like the silk he was peeling off of her. He let her slip fall to the ground beside the bed, and her knickers came off just as easily.

"Tom," she whispered, shutting her eyes. The moment her eyelids fell shut, she heard him murmur,

"Look at me."

She did, feeling tingly and warm when her eyes met his. He blinked a few times, and suddenly she remembered the crimson eyes he'd had in his other body. She reached to stroke at his sharp jaw, and she informed him,

"You are criminally handsome."

"I'm a criminal in a lot of ways," he confessed. "I don't know about the handsome bit. Do me a favour… lie on your stomach."

"My stomach?" Bellatrix felt anxious, but she obeyed him and rolled over. She sucked in air hard when she felt his hands touch to her back.

" _Lubrico_ ," he mumbled, and suddenly his hands were gliding easily around her skin. He was far from a massage expert, she could tell, but it still felt damned good to have him rubbing her. The intent mattered far more than the technique, she thought, and she soaked in the feel of his touch. This was her master, the fearsome Lord Voldemort, digging the bases of his hands into her back and making her moan quietly against the feather pillow.

"Master," she whispered, and he just hummed in response. He caressed her shoulder blades and then worked up around her neck. After a long time of massaging, Bellatrix started to feel drowsy, and she was almost asleep when she felt Tom's hands gently turning her over. She was on her back now, staring up at him, and he'd stripped off his pyjamas and underwear.

"Bellatrix," he said softly, bending down to touch his lips to hers. She held his face, relishing the little scratch of hair that would need shaving in the morning. She moved her fingers into his thick black waves, carefully wending her fingernails around his scalp. He seemed to like that, for his breath quickened a bit, and he kissed her more urgently. He pressed one hand firmly to her abdomen and incanted,

" _Nongravidare Maxima._ "

"Thank you," she whispered against his mouth, feeling the hot flush of the contraceptive charm go through her body. He used his knee to part her thighs, and his hand slid down from her abdomen until he reached the little thatch of hair between her legs. He was so careful then, his fingers moving with experienced smoothness against her. She gasped a little as he played with her clit, and when he slowly dipped two fingers inside of her, she groaned into his kiss.

She arched up toward him, feeling the tip of his cock graze her stomach, and she yanked her mouth back, desperate for air. He was hooking his fingers now, curling them, pumping them. His thumb was flicking her clit back and forth, and she whined,

"My Lord… My Lord…"

"Come for me, Bellatrix." He sounded out of breath, and when he pulled his face back, Bellatrix could see in the electric lamplight that his cheeks had flushed dark red. She glanced down to see that his cock had leaked a bit of fluid onto her stomach, and she could feel his member throbbing on her skin. He wanted - no, _needed_ \- to be inside of her, she could tell. For some reason, that knowledge was absolutely overwhelming, and Bellatrix shut her eyes as her climax took her over.

He was kissing her through it, though she was floating somewhere else. His hand stilled on her womanhood, and she clenched hard around his fingers as he ground himself against her belly. The more she came, the harder he ground, until he wrenched his mouth off hers and muttered frantically,

"Oh, shit, _shit!_ "

"What's wrong?" Bellatrix was dizzy and breathless as he yanked his hand from her entrance. He gasped, and then his face twisted like he was in pain. But he wasn't in pain, Bellatrix knew. She tried hard not to smile as she watched him come all over her stomach. There was so much of it, far more than usual, pumping from his swollen cock and landing in creamy stripes on her skin. Bellatrix chomped down on her lip as Tom recovered, looking very angry with himself.

"Sorry. Damn it. I'm sorry." He seemed remarkably embarrassed as he reached for his wand with a trembling hand. Bellatrix covered his hand with hers and shook her head. The mess was still all over her skin, but she didn't care. She rather liked the idea that he'd been so aroused by touching her that he'd quickly driven himself to completion. But Tom's cheeks flushed darker than ever, and he aimed his wand at Bellatrix and nonverbally Siphoned up his seed.

"And I thought that horrid grey body was oversensitive." He huffed a little as he set his wand back down. He lay beside Bellatrix and stared at the ceiling, seeming very irritated with himself. Bellatrix frowned and tucked herself beneath the luxurious blankets, a welcome change from the lumpy bed in Knockturn Alley. She stroked slowly at her master's bare chest, and she asked him,

"Did it feel good, at least?"

"What, finishing on your stomach before I ever made it inside of you? Yes, it felt good," he snapped, and Bellatrix asked,

"Well, isn't that all that matters? I felt good. You felt good."

Tom shut his eyes and sighed. "You have a very peculiar way of driving me straight into the abyss, Bellatrix. I'm not exactly certain how you do it. Once I get anything started with you, it's all I can do to last a minute and a half. I do apologise."

Bellatrix smirked and kissed at the skin on his chest, marveling yet again at how soft and warm he was here in this time. She kissed him again and asked,

"Couldn't you take Girding Potion?"

He opened his eyes and glared a bit at her. "Taking Girding Potion for sex is something sixth-year Slytherins do. I'm a seventy-year-old man."

"Well. Sixty-nine still, I think," Bellatrix said. But when he stared at her, she saw a handsome young face, and she reminded him, "Your body is young, My Lord."

"You are embarrassing me." His voice was harsh then, and Bellatrix whispered,

"I'm sorry."

They were silent for a long while, until he finally said in a low, staccato voice,

"It isn't as though I can help it if I'm so very attracted to you. That's all it is, you understand. You're very attractive to me, and so I lose a degree of self-control with you."

"All right," Bellatrix said quietly, a little frightened at the idea of saying anything else. Suddenly he began to rub gently between her shoulder blades, and he murmured,

"I'll try Girding Potion."

"It was fine for me," Bellatrix insisted, but his throat bobbed, and he said again, more firmly,

"I'll try Girding Potion when I can get my hands on some."

Bellatrix grinned and propped her chin up on his chest. "What if it makes you come over and over and -"

"Bella." He turned his face to her, looking playful and stern at once. He rolled his eyes a little and joined her beneath the blankets. Then, seeming set on changing the subject, he said, "I think I'd like to go dancing tomorrow night. Can't cheat in the casino every single night we're here, or they'll throw me into their jail."

Bellatrix laughed softly and curled up against him. Their bare bodies felt good meshed together like this, she thought.

"I'd like to go dancing. I haven't danced in a long time," she said. "Not since my cousin Vega's wedding. I think I danced with my father three or four times because all the boys were afraid of me."

"You danced with me," Tom said quietly. Bellatrix looked up at him, confused. She didn't remember ever dancing with him. He smiled a little, seeming wistful, and he told her, "For your twenty-first birthday… your golden birthday… your parents threw a sort of ball for you. I danced with you there. Just once. One song."

"Oh." Bellatrix's eyes burned then, and she looked down to the ring on her left hand. She was going to marry him. She blinked a few times and murmured, "Alone, just the two of us, on a balcony at sunset."

She heard his breath catch a little then, and he reached for her left hand with his right one. He dragged his thumb over her right, and he stared up at the ceiling as he suggested,

"Tomorrow evening, before the sun goes down… marry me on the balcony of this suite. And then, afterward, as my wife… go dancing with me."

Bellatrix smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

"That sounds wonderful, My Lord."

His lips curled up, and he said softly,

"Get some sleep, Bellatrix. Big day tomorrow."

 **Author's Note: Whew! Sorry for uploading three chapters in one day! I am so grateful for everyone reading and commenting even with the lightning pace of updates. I'll take my time writing the next chapter… as you can tell, it's a biggie!**


	32. Chapter 32

Tom Riddle stared out at the Mediterranean Sea and realised that he was about to do something he'd wanted to do for over twenty-five years. He'd wanted it in various degrees of severity; sometimes it had been a dull ache of desire in the back of his mind, and sometimes it had been a sharp stab of need. Making Bellatrix Black _his_ had been a constant, though, even when he'd handed her over to Rodolphus Lestrange.

Those had been difficult years, he thought as he studied a palm tree on the street below him. He remembered the way Bellatrix and Rodolphus had looked walking hand in hand on the lawn outside Malfoy Manor, the way they'd spoken so easily with one another. Sometimes Voldemort had been consumed with jealousy, with rage. He'd gone to the Forest of Dean one time and had toppled a dozen mighty trees, because he'd overheard Rodolphus teasing Bellatrix about what he was going to do to her after a meeting.

He'd always loved her, Tom knew now. He hadn't wanted to admit it to himself, in those other times, but he knew it now. He'd loved her to the marrow of his bones. He'd loved her nearly as much as he'd loved power, and he would have surrendered a lot to keep her. He'd made an awful mistake in giving her up, in marrying her off to Rodolphus. This time, he wouldn't let anyone else touch her again. This time, she would be his. Forever.

"My Lord?"

He turned at the sound her voice, and then his breath escaped him. Her curls were half pulled back, falling softly around her face and blowing a bit in the breeze. The sunset was bathing her young face in a warm glow. She wore minimal makeup, a fact for which Tom was grateful. She was in black - it wouldn't have made sense for Bellatrix to wear white - but she looked so beautiful he couldn't speak. Her dress was wispy tulle, long-sleeved with a modest neck and skirts that blew about like her hair. She had simple, flat shoes on, and as she stepped out onto the balcony, she looked almost innocent. She wasn't innocent, of course; she liked to burn down houses, and she'd robbed Muggles to buy this dress. But she _looked_ pure and virginal. She looked young. She was young. Tom was dizzy.

"My Lord?" she asked again, and he finally nodded and pulled his wand out. He reached into the pocket of his suit trousers and pulled out two simple platinum rings. Bellatrix looked perplexed, but he informed her,

"I Conjured them this morning."

Her eyebrows went up. "You Conjured platinum rings? You are… you are amazing."

Tom smirked a bit and handed her the larger ring so he could put it on him. Then he cleared his throat a bit and asked, "Ready?"

She smiled a little, her wand in one hand and the ring in the other, and she said firmly, "I have never been more ready for anything in my entire life."

"All nineteen years of it," Tom scoffed, and Bellatrix said calmly,

"So much living left to do."

That made his eyes burn, for some bizarre reason. He stared out at the sea again, studying a luxurious yacht that was bobbing languidly and a speed boat that was zipping along the waves. It was beautiful here, he thought, and when he looked back to Bellatrix, his stomach flopped with anticipation. Best just to do it, he determined, and he huffed a breath and said firmly,

"I prefer to marry you as Lord Voldemort."

She smiled knowingly and nodded. "Of course, Master."

"Right." He brought his fist to his lips and coughed a little, feeling very thirsty all of a sudden. He blinked and found Bellatrix's eyes, and he said, "I'll perform the handfasting first, if you'll… erm, just tuck your wand away."

Bellatrix glanced down. "I haven't got a pocket."

"Here. I'll take it." Tom held his hand out, and Bellatrix gave him her crooked wand. He tucked it into his suit coat, and he put her ring into his trouser pocket. Then he took her left hand in his and felt that they were both shaking. He gave her a reassuring little smile and promised, "I'm nervous, too. It's fine."

He touched the tip of his wand to his forearm and slowly dragged it over their hands and her wrist, and he said as smoothly as he could,

" _I make you my heart. I make you my own. You make me your heart. You make me your own. Forever together and never alone. Bound up, united, stitched up and sewn. Husband and wife now, our flesh and our bone._ "

He watched in wonder as a silvery light twined and braided around their linked hands, glittering in the golden glow of the sunset. It twinkled brightly for a moment and then seemed to sink into their skin, and a pleasant rush went through Tom's veins. He smiled as he reluctantly released Bellatrix's hand. He pulled her ring out of his pocket, and her left hand shook like mad as she held it out.

"Bellatrix Black, I promise to love and honour you as your husband from this day until my last."

He pushed the ring he'd Conjured onto her finger, and it joined the ring that he'd waited decades to give her. Bellatrix was crying softly now, and he realised that was why she'd worn so little makeup. Smart girl.

"Lord Voldemort," she said very meaningfully, taking his left hand in hers and meeting his eyes, "I promise to love and honour you as your servant and wife from this day until my last."

He wanted her to move faster then, because he needed to kiss her. The instant his ring pushed past his second knuckle, he snatched Bellatrix's face, his wand pressed against her cheek, and he kissed her for all he was worth. He plunged his tongue between her lips, and she moaned desperately into his mouth. Her hands were steady then as she held his cheeks, and when at last he pulled away, she asked him,

"Are we married now?"

"Yes, Bella. We are married now. We are finally… you are finally…"

He kissed her again then, unable to speak and unwilling to do anything else.

* * *

"My feet are getting sore," Bellatrix laughed softly. "I can't imagine if I'd worn heels."

"Well, this is… what, the seventh song we're dancing to?" Tom's head was whirling. He was three flutes of Champagne and two martinis into the night. Bellatrix was just as badly off; she was unsteady on her feet now. The band was starting to sound tired, hours into the evening, and people were starting to clear out.

"I love you," Bellatrix said, her voice a little blurry. Tom nodded down at her. They'd said it so much tonight. Too much, probably, but it didn't matter. It was their wedding night. Weren't they meant to say it over and over?

"So you didn't go?" Bellatrix asked as they swayed, and she squeezed a little at Tom's hand. His fingers tightened at her back, and he frowned.

"Go where?"

"To my wedding to Rodolphus." Her eyes were glassy now, and Tom scowled.

"No. I did not go to your wedding to Rodolphus."

"Is it because you were too important by then?" Bellatrix was fumbling with her words now. Tom knew she wouldn't talk like this if she hadn't been drunk. He gritted his teeth a little and pulled her a bit closer.

"It's because I couldn't fathom the idea of you speaking vows to him. I had this little cottage outside Edinburgh, a private place of my own. I went there and I got so drunk that I passed out in the kitchen and woke up on the floor the next morning with the worst headache of my life."

Bellatrix looked then like she was going to cry. She shook her head with disbelief and glanced to her left hand on Tom's shoulder.

"You had the ring? Even then?"

He tried not to remember the way that he'd awakened the day after Bellatrix's wedding to Rodolphus with the diamond ring on the wooden floorboards beside him. He tried not to remember the way he'd smashed out the windows of the cottage in his rage, the way he'd nearly gone to the wedding and ordered that it be stopped. But in his mind, he could still see the glint of the diamond on the kitchen floor. He could still feel the throb of the hangover, the ache of knowing that Bellatrix was waking in a bed beside Rodolphus.

"None of that matters now," Tom said very loudly to Bellatrix. "You are my wife now."

She nodded and squeezed his shoulder. "Yes. Thank goodness. I am so grateful. I am so happy. I love you. I'm sorry; I keep saying that."

"Don't ever stop saying it," Tom instructed her. Bellatrix studied his face, and then her lips curled up a little, and she suggested,

"I want to go upstairs now."

He smiled and curled his fingers around hers, and together they walked out of the ballroom, away from the din of the jazz band, through the elegant lobby, and toward the gleaming lifts. They rode up to their suite in silence, and Tom knew they were both tingling with want. They were both drunk, but all Tom could think was that the buzz of the alcohol might help him last a little longer tonight. He managed with the key in the door, and when he pushed it open, he told Bellatrix,

"Get that dress off. I swear to you, I'm going to -"

"My Lord."

"I'm going to make you -"

" _Master._ " Bellatrix's voice was clearer now than it had been, and Tom scowled as he followed the path of her eyes.

There was an owl sitting on the ledge of the open windows.

Tom gulped hard and walked toward the owl, and Bellatrix said numbly from behind him,

"It must have had to rest a few times on the way here."

"Probably," Tom replied, his fingers trembling as he untied the scroll and small box from the owl's feet. He carried them to the desk in the suite, and the owl flew off into the night. Bellatrix flicked the switch to illuminate the electric lighting, and Tom felt sick as he studied the _M_ on the scroll's wax seal.

"It's from the Ministry," Bellatrix breathed from beside him. Tom just broke the seal and unfurled the parchment, and he read aloud,

" _Dear Mr Riddle,_

 _You are required to return to London immediately for questioning regarding the death of Albus Dumbledore. Failure to report to the Ministry of Magic within twenty-four hours will result in the issue of a warrant for your arrest._

 _In the box attached to the owl is a small cube, which is a specialised Portkey. It will transport you immediately to the Ministry for Magic._

 _Regards,_

 _Justus Pilliwickle, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement._ "

 **Author's Note: Ack. So, they're married (yay!) but Tom/Voldemort is needed for questioning (boo!). Is he going to get in trouble for killing Dumbledore?! And how is he going to explain away Bellatrix?**


	33. Chapter 33

"Mr Riddle. Do have a seat. Thank you for joining us all the way from… Monte Carlo." Nora Billy, the Auror in charge of questioning Tom, examined his file. Tom just folded his hands on the table and stared at the tall, thin witch with her horn-rimmed glasses and her greying hair. He said nothing. Nora Billy sighed and said primly,

"I don't recall anyone mentioning a wedding ring; have you married? There's no marriage certificate on file for you."

"Private ceremony," Tom said simply, and Nora Billy asked,

"Who's the lucky bride?"

Tom didn't answer. Billy cleared her throat and shrugged.

"We've checked with Ilvermorny; they didn't have a student called _Bella_ any time in recent memory. But there is a witch by that name who's been working in Markus Scarrs, saying she's your wife, saying she attended Ilvermorny. A Half-Blood with American wizarding parents? We can't seem to track this person down."

"People change their names sometimes," Tom pointed out, and Nora Billy narrowed her eyes a little.

"Who is she?"

Tom thought as quickly as he could. He finally huffed out a breath and said, "She never attended wizarding school. Her wizarding family in America educated her at home. She says she went to Ilvermorny to lend a bit of credence to herself. Her name is Bella. Bella Riddle now. She is my wife."

"Very well." Nora Billy did not look at all convinced. She wrote something on a sheet of parchment, and then she said, "Albus Dumbledore told a fellow professor that he'd received a letter from one Tom Riddle, asking to meet at the Hog's Head."

"Have you got this supposed letter?" Tom snapped, and Nora Billy's stony face faltered a little.

"We have a letter. Anonymous. Asking for a meeting. It was found in Dumbledore's office."

"Well, I didn't write it," Tom lied smoothly. "I would be more than happy to provide a penmanship sample for you."

"Penmanship can be magically altered," Nora Billy pointed out, and Tom immediately retorted,

"And those spells should be easily undone. I assume you did attempt to undo any alteration of penmanship?"

Nora Billy did not answer, so Tom said,

"I take it you don't need a penmanship sample, in that case."

"You tried to get a teaching position at Hogwarts not long after leaving," Billy stated, and Tom shrugged.

"I'm perfectly happy at Borgin and Burkes."

"You and Albus Dumbledore never got on," she said, drumming her fingers on the desk in the quiet, dark interrogation room. Tom shrugged.

"I had very positive relationships with nearly all my teachers."

Nora Billy opened her mouth with another question, but Tom decided to seize control of the interrogation.

"I thought you examined Aberforth Dumbledore's wand and found evidence of the Killing Curse."

Billy's cheeks pinked. "We did," she said, "but the circumstances seem off."

Tom shrugged. "I was in the Hog's Head a few times. Heard the two of them arguing more than once. I know there are rumours of something awful happening to their sister."

"Mr Riddle, we are here to discuss _your_ involvement," Nora Billy began, but Tom said slickly,

"I wasn't involved. Aberforth's wand did show evidence of having cast the Killing Curse?"

Billy set her quill down. "Yes."

"And you say he remembers having killed his brother?" Tom kept his face steady, and Billy shrugged.

"Yes."

"Then why am I here?" Tom blinked a few times, confident he'd successfully hijacked the interview. Nora Billy looked shocked, and Tom barrelled on, "Did you bring me in for questioning just because one professor claims that Albus Dumbledore suspected that an anonymous letter requesting a meeting might have been written by me? My goodness, Ms Billy; that _is_ circumstantial. Especially considering that you've got a suspect who actually remembers killing Albus Dumbledore and whose wand shows evidence of having cast the spell. You didn't find my fingerprints anywhere in the Hog's Head, did you?"

Nora Billy's face went more red than ever, and she shook her head as she whispered, "No."

"Did Aberforth Dumbledore remember me being in the Hog's Head that day?" Tom demanded, and Billy shook her head once more. "No."

Tom leaned across the table a little, smirked, and asked quietly, "Then… why on Earth am I here?"

Nora Billy stared at him for a very long moment, and finally she sighed and said,

"You may go, Mr Riddle. Sorry to inconvenience you."

Tom rose from his chair, walking out of the interrogation room without another word.

* * *

"My Lord. How did it go?" Bellatrix stopped her anxious pacing inside the little flat as Tom came in and shut the door. He let out a shaking breath and told her sharply,

"You can't work at the tattoo parlour anymore. We have to leave Knockturn Alley."

Bellatrix was shocked. She blinked a few times and frowned. "Will you tell me what happened?"

"They obviously went to Edna, asking about you, and she told them… well, she told them too much. I've written to Abraxas Malfoy and tell him it's time to start our movement. We need to move into Malfoy Manor and begin recruitment. It's time to stop living this life - time to stop being Tom Riddle, humble employee of Borgin and Burkes."

"Wait." Bellatrix was confused. She approached him and put her hands on his shoulders. "Are you in trouble?"

"No. They let me go. But it's time to rise above all of this," he said firmly. "It's time to become Lord Voldemort now. I can't be at the beck and call of the Ministry. I can't be working in a shop. I can't have some random witch making people question who you are. We have to leave all this behind."

Bellatrix nodded. Tom seemed very anxious then as he went to the counter and pulled out a stool. He sat down and put his hands in his head, and he sighed slowly.

"Bella," he said, almost gently. She moved to stand on the opposite side of the counter, and he raised his dark eyes to her. "There's an Auror called Nora Billy. I think you know what you need to do."

Bellatrix smirked a little. "Yes, Master."

* * *

Bellatrix stood outside the cottage in Aston, a small village in Oxfordshire. It was two in the morning, and the frigid black air was completely silent. Bellatrix was very quiet as she stepped up to the cottage and whispered,

" _Alohomora._ "

She padded into the cottage toe-first, her feet soundless on the ground. She spotted a hound dog on the ground, and she immediately aimed her wand at it to Silence it in case it decided to bark. She padded through a sitting room that smelled of stale potpourri, and then she made her way past a small bathroom. Finally, she reached a bedroom, in which she could see a brass bed with two sleeping forms.

Evidently, Nora Billy had a husband. No matter, Bellatrix thought. He was expendable, too. Since there were two of them, she decided to Stun them first, since she could do that quietly.

 _Stupefy!_ she incanted silently. _Stupefy!_

The two lumps flew out of the bed and were socked against the wall. They slumped to the floor, and Bellatrix walked quietly toward them. She aimed her wand first at the wizard, a plump man whose grey hair had been badly rumpled by sleep and the Stunning. Bellatrix closed the curtains on the window, just in case any nosy neighbour saw the green lights of her curses. She aimed her wand at the wizard again and said firmly,

" _Avada Kedavra!_ _Corpus Evanesco._ "

The wizard was killed, and then his body Vanished into Non-Being. Bellatrix went over to where Nora Billy lay on the ground beside the bed, and she said softly,

"Let this be a lesson to anyone who would dare cross Lord Voldemort. _Avada Kedavra! Corpus Evanesco._ "

After the Auror was gone forever, Bellatrix cast a Neatening Charm upon the bed. She made her way back out through the cottage, taking the Silencing Charm off the dog in the front of the house. She Scoured the door handles to ensure her fingerprints weren't present, and once she was outside again, she murmured,

" _Colloportus._ "

Now the cottage was locked up, neat and tidy, but its inhabitants were gone. They were simply gone. This was the sort of thing that would inspire fear, that would inspire awe. No one would ever be able to prove definitively that Lord Voldemort had been involved in the death of the Auror who had questioned him, but everyone would know.

This was the beginning, Bellatrix knew. He was beginning again, here, tonight.

She Disapparated from the village of Aston, coming to in Malfoy Manor. Abraxas Malfoy had replied very quickly to Tom Riddle. Now that Abraxas' parents had retired to a villa in Switzerland, Malfoy Manor was his home, along with his French wife Adalie. Of course a suite was available to Tom, Abraxas had said. He'd been one of the Knights of Walpurgis at Hogwarts, one of the ones convinced that Tom Riddle would become someone great. Given the opportunity to show loyalty early, Abraxas had leaped.

Bellatrix dashed through the suite until she reached Tom in the bedroom. Suddenly she was taken back to 1996, for this was the same suite they'd used in that time. She could see Nagini all of a sudden. She could see the grey-faced, towering monster of a man Lord Voldemort had become. But before her stood the young, handsome, black-eyed husband she adored, and he grinned when he saw her breathless happiness.

"They're gone," she affirmed, and he nodded.

"Good girl."

 **Author's Note: Whew! Now, I'm at a bit of a crossroads. I could tie this story up within a few chapters, or I could sort of restart the Voldemort story given these circumstances (wherein he's married to Bellatrix and has knowledge of the mistakes he made before). If I tie this story up, I'd move onto a new project. If I keep this one going, it's likely to wind up the length of All the Wrong Choices/In the Shadow of Your Wings (150k+ words, meaning we're only ⅓ of the way through). If you have a strong desire to see this story go on, please let me know. Otherwise, I will plan on tying it up and beginning a different project. Thanks!**


	34. Chapter 34

"Abraxas."

Tom came striding into the study as if he owned it, and Abraxas Malfoy flew to his feet, a snifter of brandy in his hand. He smiled and asked,

"Can I offer you a drink?"

"Thank you, but I quite had my fill at dinner," Tom said. "I think our wives are off chatting."

Malfoy laughed a little and noted, "It seems we've both married foreigners."

"Well," Tom said, tipping his head, "Mine's only half foreign."

"But they have got it quite right in America, I think," Malfoy insisted. "They keep Muggles entirely separate there. It's illegal to fraternise."

"Yes. That's why Bella spent most of her childhood here," Tom nodded. "She's a Half-Blood, admittedly, but… her heart's in the right place."

"So it is, if it's with you." Malfoy smiled nervously and sipped from his brandy. Tom sat slowly in a wingback chair before the blazing fireplace, and Malfoy sat opposite him. Tom remembered what Malfoy would be like as an older wizard, as a grandfather. He remembered him dying of dragon pox. He remembered him in middle age walking into a meeting where Lord Voldemort had his hand up Bellatrix Black's skirt. He smirked at that memory, and he asked,

"Where did you meet her? Adalie?"

"Oh. Her mother's family and my mother's family… old friends. My mother went to Beauxbatons, you know, so. Adalie and I have actually known one another for many years. We decided to marry because we had precisely the same shade of icy blond hair, so…"

Tom laughed at Malfoy's jape, and Malfoy smiled as he sipped his drink. He wanted to ask Tom where he'd met Bella. He was afraid to ask, but he wanted to know. Tom drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair and said,

"I met Bella in an entirely different world. I'm afraid I can't speak too much on it."

"Oh." Malfoy seemed at once fascinated and terrified, but he nodded. Tom quickly added,

"She and I are very grateful for the hospitality."

"Hospitality? No, it's… my home is yours," Malfoy said firmly. "We all knew in school that you'd be someone great. Anything I can do to facilitate that, to be a part of your movement, I will do."

Tom gave Malfoy a pleasant expression and said honestly, "I could always tell, Malfoy, that you would be my right-hand man. I could use an office."

"There's one downstairs. Of course." Malfoy nodded vigorously, and Tom gave him a grateful look.

"Two invitations came by owl today," Malfoy said, as if he were just remembering. "Apparently the owl knew you were here."

"Invitations?" Tom tried to think of what would be happening right now.

"A wedding," Malfoy said, sounding bored. "Cygnus Black and Druella Rosier."

Tom froze, struggling to keep his face impassive. Those were his in-laws, he realised with an odd spike of confusion. He gulped and asked,

"When's the wedding?"

"Fourteenth of December. Reckon it'll feel like a damned Christmas party," Malfoy said with a little smile. Tom smiled nervously and decided to quickly change the subject.

"I'd like to write to all the old crowd," he said. "Lestrange, Goyle, Mulciber, Nott, Avery, Shacklebolt, Rookwood, Yaxley... the lot. I'd like to have a dinner party. Get everyone back together again."

Malfoy's pale eyes glittered with excitement, and he said, "With Dumbledore gone, a massive window of opportunity's been opened. There's a need for leadership, and you… erm… are you still going by Tom?"

"I'd prefer _Lord Voldemort_ ," Tom said very calmly, and Malfoy just stared for a moment. Then he gulped and said,

"There's a need for leadership, My Lord. We could be like America. Keep the Muggles completely separate. Purify the community again. And you could lead us. I'll arrange for a dinner. All the old boys. Of course."

"And Bella," Tom said smoothly. "She's a soldier, believe me."

Malfoy looked somewhat amazed, but he nodded. "Yes, sir."

Tom couldn't help but smile a little at the honorific. He studied Malfoy's eager face, sighed, and said,

"I killed him. Dumbledore."

Malfoy's eyes went round, and his bottom lip quivered a little. Then he grinned and swigged down the rest of his brandy, Banishing the snifter across the room. He scoffed a little and said disbelievingly,

"My goodness. I… well… I won't ask details, My Lord."

"Very good. Thank you again. For the loyalty and the hospitality. It will not be forgotten," Tom said, rising from his chair.

"Oh. I, erm… I have something for you. A gift." Malfoy reached into his robes and flew to his feet, and then he held out a tiny glass phial. Tom frowned as he took it, studying the translucent purple liquid inside. Malfoy huffed out a breath and said, "It's bloody expensive stuff, very hard to come by. Entirely illegal, not that that matters. Adalie introduced me to it. It's very popular in France, I understand."

"What is it?" Tom asked bluntly, and Malfoy said with a playful smile,

"They call it Felicity."

"It's a drug?" Tom asked carefully, and Malfoy shrugged.

"It's a potion, but it's banned. It's not addictive; I've done it enough to know. It's like taking all the best parts of a few potions and blending them together, erasing the negative bits. You get the bliss of Euphoria without the nose-tweaking and hopping about and singing. You get that calm, subtle sedation of Draught of Peace without feeling sleepy or dragging. You get the vigour of Girding Potion without the racing heart. It's… well, it's bloody wondrous stuff. One drop only."

"It is safe?" Tom demanded, and Malfoy insisted,

"It is. I've used from that batch myself. I'd never give you anything I doubted. But I will warn you… it makes the witches a bit… erm…"

His pale cheeks reddened then, and Tom laughed under his breath.

"One drop?" he asked, and Malfoy nodded.

"Have fun, My Lord."

* * *

"We're doing drugs now?" Bellatrix scowled at the little phial Tom had handed her. He shrugged and insisted,

"No. I - I mean… we don't have to. You don't have to. I've never tried anything like that, so… I heard about stuff like this, back when I was on the Continent. I was far too busy learning the Dark Arts to be drugging myself, so… It's fine. We don't have to."

He made a move to snatch the phial back, but Bellatrix scowled and moved her hand. She studied the phial carefully and asked,

"What'll it do to me?"

"Make you feel good, apparently," Tom said impatiently. "Listen, Bella… just give it back."

But her curiosity had been piqued, so she unscrewed the top of the phial and pulled out the rubber-topped dropper.

" _One_ drop," Tom warned her. " _One._ "

"Yes, Master," she smirked. She held the dropper over her tongue and let one drop fall. She handed the phial to Tom as she let the sickly sweet taste come over her. She blinked a few times, for she was immediately dizzy. She watched as Tom administered a drop to himself, and she heard herself whisper,

"I feel all clean inside."

"Clean inside?" Tom asked with a little laugh. Bellatrix grinned up at him, and suddenly he looked so handsome that she was drenched between her legs. She gasped and rose from the edge of the bed, where she'd been sitting, and she threaded her arms around Tom's shoulders.

"I am soaking wet for you," she informed him seriously, and half his mouth turned up. He seemed to be studying her closely, and as he reached for her hand, he murmured,

"So that's what he meant. Malfoy."

"What?" Bellatrix felt like her head was floating. She forgot why she was asking him a question then, because he'd pulled her hand into his robes, and she felt that he was rock hard in his trousers. Her breath shook as she moaned a little, and she whispered,

"Please fuck me."

"What?" Tom's eyes nearly bugged out of his skull, and he laughed at her. "You filthy little creature."

"Sorry." Bellatrix was embarrassed, but she couldn't help herself. She needed him so, so badly then. She started stripping off her clothes as quickly as she could, throwing her dress aside and practically ripping off her bra and knickers. Tom was more methodical in taking off his robes, jumper, shirt, tie, and trousers, and Bellatrix whined, "Please move faster."

"Patience," he teased her, but she growled and shoved his trousers down his hips with his underwear. He seemed to quite like that, and he murmured, "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"Be… mmm… be behind me," Bellatrix begged him. "I need it as hard as you can do it. Please, My Lord. Please."

"Bellatrix." He took her face in his hands and bent to kiss her, but Bellatrix was in no mood for kisses. She turned her face away and protested,

"I need to be fucked."

"Oh, my." He sounded very amused then, and his hands went to her backside. He squeezed her hard there, and he put his lips beside her ear. "Get on the bed."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix was panting now, and she shook as she made her way up onto the bed. She knelt and presented herself to him, knowing she probably looked like a dog and not caring one bit. She gasped when she felt his fingers grazing over her sopping wet entrance, and she shut her eyes.

"Please do it now," she begged, but he just teased her with his fingers and murmured,

"I'll do it when I feel like it."

"Master!" Bellatrix let her head fall, let her curls tumble down around her face…

And then she came.

It was unexpected, out of nowhere, and remarkably intense.

"Bloody hell, Bella," she heard Tom marvel from behind her. He had to have been watching the way her body was clenching. He had to feel the contractions around his fingers. Bellatrix couldn't help herself. She moaned loudly as the pleasure washed over her. It seemed to go on forever, and it felt better than anything in her entire life had felt. It was like ten climaxes in one, a smooth, long, intense wave of unimaginable bliss.

" _Nongravidare Maxima,_ " she heard Tom's voice incant, and she was abruptly very glad that he had presence of mind that she seemed to be lacking just now. She felt the tip of his cock at her entrance, but he didn't push in. She bucked her hips back, but he held her waist and pushed her forward. He rubbed a little at her back and said smoothly,

"When I feel like it, Bellatrix."

"Please. Please, please, _please!_ " Bellatrix felt like she was on the edge again, like the slightest little touch would shove her off the cliff again, and so when Tom pushed his cock into her, she growled and clenched the sheets and came once more.

"Bellatrix…" Tom sounded awed behind her, but she couldn't answer him. He was moving smoothly, pumping his hips with fluid motions as her walls snapped around his cock. She felt his thumb brush up her spine, and she shivered, still unable to formulate any words with her lips. She just moaned, a shapeless plea, a keen of pleasure.

"I love you. I have loved you for so long… I… oh, Bellatrix…"

She was only distantly aware of him talking. At some point, he came inside of her, and she was relatively certain that triggered a third, much smaller climax within her. The strange potion they'd taken had settled fully into her veins now, and her body seemed to be a puppet operated by some unseen hand. She knew there was come seeping out of her, that she was being guided onto her back, but it seemed to be happening on some other plane.

"Bellatrix?" she heard Tom's voice say, and as she stared at the ceiling, she murmured,

"You're going to rule this entire country."

"Can I tell you something?" His voice was a little slurred, and very peaceful, and Bellatrix replied,

"You don't have to ask permission, Master."

"I remember… knowing that… you were probably in the middle of your first dance with him," Tom said.

"Rodolphus," Bellatrix whispered. There was silence for a minute or an hour. She didn't know which. Finally, Tom said,

"I thought… if I drink enough, I won't know what's happening. So I did shot after shot of firewhisky. I vomited. I fell and… my knee was bleeding, but I… I still knew. Knew you were dancing with him. Fucking him. Married to him. I didn't know until that night that I… that I… you know, I was never the same after that."

"I love you," Bellatrix assured him. Her head lolled to the side, and his did the same, until their eyes met in a bleary, blissful gaze. Bellatrix reached for him, feeling his soft, thick hair, and she told him, "I loved you when you had grey skin and red eyes and no nose."

He laughed at that, but she didn't know why. She just smiled a little, and finally he said,

"I'm going to rule this entire country."

"Mmm-hmm." Bellatrix slid closer to him on the bed, and she shut her eyes. She heard him say,

"I'm never doing this drug again. I don't like… I need to be in control, you know?"

"I understand, Master." Bellatrix opened her eyes and stared at him. She had no idea how much time passed. Eventually, the oddly blissful buzz began to fade, and her mind started to feel normal again.

"My Lord?" she finally asked, and when she saw him chew his lip, she knew his dose had worn off.

"We have to go to your parents' wedding," he said, and then she doubted very much whether he was sober again or not. She frowned.

"I can't… wait… what?"

"Yes. They married before they had you, you know." He stared right at her and said, "If I'm going to have the House of Black and the Rosier family in my movement, I need to be at the wedding. And you're my wife."

"I'm their daughter," she whispered, her eyes going wide. "This is bizarre."

"This is our life now," he said firmly. Bellatrix shut her eyes and nodded, trying to imagine what her parents would have been like at her age.

"You smell like sex," Tom said, tucking her thick hair behind her ear. "Go take a shower."

She laughed a little and sat up, squeezing her eyes against the powerful headache that had come. "Mmmph. No more of that stuff. Leave it for the French."

 **Author's Note: I have decided to continue this story well beyond just a few chapters! I have some great plot twists in store! :D For those who are still reading and will continue to read - thank you so very, very, very much. I am really so grateful for the readership, feedback, and encouragement on this particular story.**


	35. Chapter 35

' _Please don't make me do this.'_

' _You're going to be fine.' Voldemort spooned a bite of honey tart and tried not to taste it in his mouth. That flavour was hers, and it made his eyes burn to perceive it. He blinked a few times and set down his spoon, deciding that he couldn't eat this particular dessert. Not tonight._

' _My Lord.' Bellatrix hadn't eaten anything at all, he'd noticed. He raised his eyes to look at her, and she had tears silently streaming down her cheeks. She swiped at them and then finally burrowed her fists against her eye sockets. She started to heave, to really sob, and Voldemort snapped,_

' _That boy thinks you are beautiful and intelligent. He will make a fine husband for you, and you will continue to serve me.'_

' _Please.' Her voice shook like a leaf. She lowered her hands and choked out a desperate breath. 'Please, Master. Have mercy. Please.'_

' _You are being ridiculous.' Voldemort stood from his chair, feeling like he was going to vomit. Bellatrix threw herself to her feet and dashed around the table to him. When she reached him, she clutched at his robes, and he scowled down at her._

' _I've grown bored of you,' he lied cruelly. 'You're getting too old for my tastes, anyway.'_

' _Too… too old?' Bellatrix looked confused and said, 'Please. I'll leave you be, but just don't make me -'_

' _You will do as I command you,' Voldemort snarled. He studied his face, knowing damned well that he had a diamond ring in his pocket for her, that he'd had dreams of making her his forever. He blinked and informed her, 'I've moved on, and so will you.'_

' _No.' Bellatrix looked like he'd stabbed her in the gut. He pulled away from her, and she fell to her knees behind him. Voldemort wanted nothing more than to haul her to her feet, to kiss her until her lips bruised, and to put the diamond ring in his pocket onto her finger. And because he wanted all of that so very badly, he strode out of the dining room, leaving her there sobbing and gasping on the ground._

"Bellatrix!"

Tom sat up quickly, struggling for air. He blinked quickly in the bright light of morning. Beside him, Bellatrix stirred and murmured,

"Master…"

"Bella." He pulled her hair aside, and she stared up at him, looking sleepy.

"Are you all right?"

"I left you," he mumbled, his voice numb. "I left you sobbing on the floor."

Bellatrix sat up slowly, confused. Tom seized her left hand and stared at her diamond ring, at the platinum ring he'd Conjured for her in Monte Carlo.

"I made you marry him, and I left you on the floor of the dining room in this manor, with this ring in my pocket," Tom insisted. "That was… it was… twenty years ago."

"It hasn't happened," Bellatrix reminded him. "I'm wearing your rings. I'm your wife. You married me."

Tom blinked and nodded vigorously. He still felt nauseated from the dream, the vivid memory, and he begged Bellatrix,

"Don't leave me."

Bellatrix looked shocked at that, and Tom knew he'd sounded desperate. Pathetic. But he couldn't care, not after that dream. Bellatrix made a move then to straddle him, to sit atop his lap and thread her arms around his shoulders, and Tom stared into her lovely eyes as she reminded him,

"You've got a meeting today. A lunch meeting. All the old boys, right? It'll be so funny to see them young. My father's friends."

"Your father. He'll be here. I did invite him, though he's just out of school," Tom said numbly. Bellatrix's face was a little odd, but she smiled a bit and nodded.

"Everything will happen more quickly this time, Master," she said. "They'll adore you. You know what you need to do this time to win. You will win. You will rule this entire country."

She was very serious then, holding Tom's cheeks in her hands and tipping her forehead against his. She moved her face a little until she kissed his cheekbone, and she murmured,

"Tom Riddle is gone. That boy is gone. I married Lord Voldemort."

His breath hitched a little in his chest, but he nodded and whispered,

"I am Lord Voldemort."

* * *

"My friends. It has been so very long since we've all been in the same place at the same time. Welcome. Many thanks, of course, to Abraxas for the use of Malfoy Manor."

Lord Voldemort took his seat at the head of the long table in the dining room. Abraxas bowed his head and said,

"As I've stated, this place is as much yours as mine."

"Thank you." Voldemort smirked a little and glanced round the table. "Let's all take a moment and just… you know, say what we've been up to. Lestrange, why don't you begin?"

Rudy Lestrange smiled broadly and folded his thin hands on the table. "Well, erm… is it to be _My Lord?_ Yes? Right. I've married Merry Bulstrode, and she's due with our first baby any day now. Healers say it's a boy. And I'm working at the Ministry. Monitoring the Floo Network."

"Congratulations to you and Merry," Voldemort said. He took a moment and pretended to have a revelation, and he said thoughtfully, "Rabastan. I sense that the child is to be called Rabastan."

Rudy Lestrange looked absolutely amazed, and he nodded frantically. "Yes. Yes, that's what Merry wanted."

"Very good. Nott, how about you?"  
Nott, Avery, Yaxley, Rookwood, and a few others gave the mundane details of their lives after Hogwarts. Abraxas Malfoy explained that he'd married a beautiful French witch and inherited Malfoy Manor, and then Cygnus Black III, by far the youngest wizard present, said nervously,

"Well. I'm very honoured to have been invited today. Erm… all of you are invited, of course, to my wedding in a few weeks. Druella and I were matched up years ago, so. That's not really news. I'm working at Gringotts. Nothing too exciting. My father was ill with dragon pox, but he's better now."

Voldemort smirked and said, "I think Pollux Black will live a good long while yet. Cygnus… this is my wife, Bella."

Bellatrix shot Voldemort an almost angry look, and then she took a steadying breath and flashed an awkward smile to her father, who looked almost exactly her age.

"Hullo," she said quietly.

"Bella," he repeated. He laughed a little and admitted, "Druella said if we were to have a daughter, she'd be called Bellatrix. Bella for short."

"Oh. That's my name," Bellatrix said, before Voldemort could stop her. She tipped her chin up a little, and she nodded. "Bellatrix."

"What a coincidence." Cygnus frowned a little, seeming to study the features of Bellatrix's face. She turned away a little, desperately looking to Voldemort for guidance.

"Perhaps… you could choose a different name." Voldemort threw up an eyebrow. "Just so we aren't drowning in Bellatrixes. Bellatrices? What's the plural of Bellatrix?"

People laughed softly, including Cygnus, who said in a conciliatory tone,

"Well, My Lord, if Druella and I have a baby girl someday, we'll call her Miranda or Ophelia or something like that."

Bellatrix looked relieved, and Voldemort decided to move on quickly. He cleared his throat and informed everyone, as if they didn't know,

"Albus Dumbledore is dead. They say his brother Aberforth Dumbledore did it."

There was silence then, a curious silence; people were wondering if there was information they were missing. Voldemort raised his eyebrows and turned to his wife.

"Bella… do tell me. Was it Aberforth Dumbledore who murdered his brother?"

"No, My Lord," she said reverently. "It was not."

Voldemort let that settle. People seemed to realise what he meant, but he decided not to give any information that could land him in Azkaban if someone decided to go and rat him out to the Ministry. He just sighed and told Bellatrix,

"Show them all your left arm, Bella."

The corners of her lips turned up a little, and she stood. She was hardly taller standing than sitting, but she still projected a great degree of confident pride. She yanked back the sleeve of her black tunic, and she showed them all her dormant, scarlet Dark Mark. Voldemort touched his wand to his own left forearm, to the Mark he'd put on this arm just the night before, and he shut his eyes, murmuring,

" _Morsmordre._ "

There were soft gasps as Bellatrix's Dark Mark flushed black. Voldemort set his wand down and told Bellatrix,

"You may sit."

She did. He waited for the excitement to die down, and he told everyone,

"This is the mark I would like to give each and every one of you. Our old school games are over. The Knights of Walpurgis - that was just a game. Lord Voldemort is not playing a game. His Death Eaters will not be playing a game when they wreak havoc, inspire terror, and rewrite the rules of wizarding Britain. Dumbledore is gone; there is no future for his Muggle-loving ways. Together, we _will_ see this country put to rights. Magical and Muggle worlds fully segregated, with magic in its proper place above the filthy Muggle mess. Lord Voldemort will lead wizarding Britain to glory, with an army of Death Eaters. Who is with me?"

"I am!" cried Abraxas Malfoy, flying to his feet. Voldemort smirked.

"I am with you," Lestrange nodded, standing.

"Those who join me will devour the detritus of the past and stand on the wreckage!" Voldemort snarled, rising slowly to his feet. Bellatrix was silently crying, he could see. She looked blissful, like she was nearly orgasmic with excitement. Voldemort pounded his fist on the table and exclaimed, "Those who stand with me will stand on the top of the pile, at the peak of the mountain! We will build a new firmament, a new dynasty of magical splendor. Witches and wizards will reign supreme. Our blood will be pure. Our land will be clean. And we will live in glory, in affluent comfort, in health and prosperity and power! Who is with me?"

"I am!" cried ten voices at once. Everyone in the room was on their feet then, and everyone began to cheer and applaud. Voldemort began to shake from the thrill. The frenzy in the room was making him tingle from the inside out. He stared at Bellatrix for a moment and watched the tears stream down her face, watched her grin more brightly than he'd ever seen. Beside her, the father who didn't know her looked awed and frightened and excited.

He would win this time. He would rule this entire country.

"Who will take the Dark Mark?" Voldemort called. "Who will become a Death Eater and join my secret army to reclaim wizarding Britain?"

"I will!" cried Abraxas Malfoy, and the others held their arms up eagerly and yelled their assent. Voldemort smirked and nodded, and he turned his eyes back to Bellatrix. She swiped at her tears and reached for his hand, which she squeezed tightly.

This time, Lord Voldemort knew, every single thing would be his.

 **Author's Note: Oh, my. We're definitely at a turning point. He's leaving Tom Riddle behind. He's Lord Voldemort now, and he's getting the ball rolling on Attempt #2 of his movement. But this time, he doesn't intend on leaving Bellatrix sobbing in a dining room. He doesn't intend on getting warped by too many Horcruxes, or losing his body to a rebounded Killing Curse. Next up… the wedding of Cygnus and Druella Black. Mwah hahaha.**

 **By the way, what** _ **is**_ **the plural of Bellatrix? Haha.**


	36. Chapter 36

"You're wearing _that_?"

"Is it that bad?" Bellatrix whirled around, feeling anxious. Lord Voldemort stared at her, open-mouthed and agape, and he shook his head.

"You can't wear that."

"What?" Bellatrix glanced down. She'd thought she looked rather pretty, as it happened. Her gown was crafted of extremely fine black silk. It was caped, with the cape pooling behind Bellatrix's feet. Her tiny waist was bound in by an intricately carved belt of thick silver. The skirt moved like water around Bellatrix's legs, and the sleeves hugged her thin arms just so. The neckline plunged all the way to the belt, revealing the gentle swell of her small breasts.

"I… I worked hard on it, Master," Bellatrix said softly. She looked into the mirror at her hair, which had been pulled into sleek braids crossing her head with a neat nest of curls at the back. She studied her gold clock pendant, her platinum wedding rings, and she asked the reflection in the mirror, "Do I look that ugly?"

"Ugly," Lord Voldemort scoffed disbelievingly. He appeared beside her, his reflection awfully handsome in tuxedo robes. His dark eyes glittered as he shook his head. "You're too beautiful."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and turned to him. "Too beautiful, My Lord?"

He dragged his knuckles around her exposed chest, making her shiver, and then up around her collarbone and neck. He gulped and aimed his wand at her torso, and he murmured,

" _Suturis_."

Bellatrix was almost angry then as her very low-cut gown stitched itself up a bit. It was still a deep V-neck, but her breasts were mostly covered now. Bellatrix scowled at Voldemort and demanded,

"Why did you do that, Master?"

"I can't have everyone ogling your body," Voldemort said, his cheeks going a little pink. "If you go like you were… even like this, like you are now, everyone's going to be staring at you. Wizards will flirt with you!"

Bellatrix smirked a little, and Voldemort seemed irritated.

"Why are you giving me that look?" he demanded. Bellatrix sighed.

"Master," she said, "if you really think that my gown - or, rather, my breasts - will inspire lust in other wizards, why not use that to your advantage?"

He narrowed his eyes. "What the blazes do you mean?"

"Why not let them flirt?" she suggested. "Let them get rejected. Let them be reminded that these breasts, just like everything else, belong to the ascending Dark Lord. Let them realise that this young man, this wizard who isn't part of their haughty Pureblood circle, has a pretty wife they want. Let them realise that this wizard will have _everything_ , and that if they want _anything_ , they'd best get into your good graces swiftly."

Voldemort chewed his lip. He shook his head just a little, but Bellatrix pulled her wand out of the pocket hidden in her satin skirt. She aimed the wand at her chest and nonverbally incanted a Severing Charm. The gown opened back up, plunging all the way back to the belt. Bellatrix turned back to her boudoir and opened a jar of Pearlescent Paste. She dabbed a bit of the slightly sparkly creme onto the pad of her middle finger, and she smeared it carefully around her cleavage. When she turned round, Voldemort's eyes went right to her chest, and he said in awe,

"Your poor mother."

"I beg your pardon?" Bellatrix laughed, and when he kept staring at her chest, she reminded him, "I've got a pair of eyes, Master. All the way up here."

Voldemort's gaze finally snapped up, and Bellatrix giggled a little. Her husband - her master, the man who was just about to turn seventy in real years, the young and handsome and powerful new Dark Lord - finally met her eyes, and he said,

"You're not meant to upstage the bride at a wedding, Bellatrix."

She shrugged and insisted, "I'm sure my mother will look perfectly lovely. Shall we go?"

"Promise me something." He stepped closer to her, and he took her face in his hands. He seemed to study her thickly lined eyes, her burgundy lips, and he said carefully, "All those wizards who inevitably flirt with you… don't let them touch you."

Bellatrix curled up half her mouth and reminded him, "It'd be a lot easier if you just didn't let me out of your sight, My Lord. Just keep one hand on me and let them stare at my sparkly tits."

"Bella!" Voldemort coughed out a laugh then, and Bellatrix grinned as she wrapped her arms up around his shoulders. He tipped his head down and touched his forehead to hers, and he murmured, "Right. Let's go."

"To my parents' wedding," Bellatrix said, cringing and shaking her head in disbelief. Voldemort nodded and said seriously,

"To your parents' wedding."

Then he Disapparated, taking Bellatrix with him, and the two of them came to in the garden outside the sprawling country Rosier estate.

* * *

"This is so bizarre. And awkward. Bizarre and awkward. Awful. I hate this."

"Please stop." Voldemort curled up his lips as Bellatrix complained beside him. Bellatrix huffed out a breath and folded her hands in her lap. She caught the eye of Rudy Lestrange, who was staring right at her even as his wife looked ready to burst straight into labour beside him.

"At some point in your memory, Rudy Lestrange was my father-in-law, right?" Bellatrix whispered, and Voldemort followed her stare back toward Lestrange. He glared, and Lestrange's cheeks coloured. Lestrange reached for his wife's hand and brought a fist to his throat, coughing softly.

"Don't look now," Voldemort said, "but Hemingway Rosier is thinking about ways to try and get you into an empty room upstairs."

"Eugh. My great-uncle Hemingway?" Bellatrix hissed, and Voldemort shrugged.

"He doesn't know you're related."

"Still," Bellatrix mumbled, "He's got to be at least fifty."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at her then, and Bellatrix's lips fell open. She shrugged apologetically. He may be in a young body, but he was an old man. Regardless of the form he took, he'd experienced fifty years of life that Bellatrix had not. She sighed and reached for his hand, giving him a very affectionate look, and she asked,

"When does this blasted ceremony begin, My Lord?"

"Right about… now." Voldemort turned his head, and Bellatrix rotated with him. A string quartet began to play in the Rosier ballroom, and the assembled wedding guests began to go hush. Bellatrix's stomach flopped as she watched two tiny girls come walking down the aisle, scattering flower petals that glowed and glimmered where they fell. Bellatrix knew at once who they were; they were her cousins Bettina and Marina. In her time, they'd both been married with small children of their own. Bellatrix gulped as her father's sister, Walburga, came walking down the aisle in a sombre but elegant emerald bridesmaid's gown. In Bellatrix's time, Walburga had been married to Orion, and they'd had two sons, Regulus and Sirius. But here, Walburga was young and lovely.

"This is so strange," Bellatrix whispered, squeezing at Voldemort's hand frantically. He turned his face back to her and gave her a reassuring look, and he murmured softly,

"This is our life now, Bellatrix."

"Yes. I know." She gasped then, for her own father had appeared at the front of the room, along with Horace Slughorn, who was apparently officiating. There were, after all, quite a few members of the Slug Club present. Bellatrix was overwhelmed by the sight of all the faces she'd known in her own time, in different circumstances. She turned then and rose with all the other guests, her eyes locking on the witch in a demure gown of white lace.

"Mum," she whispered, and Voldemort snatched her hand to silence her. Bellatrix's eyes watered. It was too strange, for her mother looked quite a lot like Bellatrix herself did. Their eyes and nose were the same. Bellatrix had her father's lips and chin, but she'd inherited her mother's black curls, stature, skin tone…

Druella Rosier was a vision in white, walking with a happy smile down the aisle on the arm of the grandfather who had died before Bellatrix had ever known him. The ceremony felt like it was happening on some other planet. Bellatrix watched in wonder as her father promised to love her mother forever, as her mother's hands shook, as they pushed rings onto each other's fingers. Then the two of them kissed, and everyone applauded, and Bellatrix hissed at Voldemort,

"I'm going to be _conceived_ awfully quickly. What a horrid thought."

"Well, don't think about that. You heard your father. They'll call you Miranda or something." Voldemort smirked at her and led her away as the House-Elves began to clear the ceremony space and transform it into a place ready for hors d'oeuvres, drinks, and dancing.

"I didn't know my grandparents cheaped out on having a full dinner," Bellatrix mused as she munched on a bite-sized spinach quiche.

"It's common in this time," Tom shrugged, "not to have a full meal. Listen… I need to go congratulate your parents. I don't think you should speak with them. I'll be right back."

"You're leaving me here alone?" Bellatrix was mildly horrified, but Voldemort tipped his head and assured her,

"You'll be fine." His face was odd for a moment then, which made Bellatrix worry. Voldemort frowned, reached to stroke at Bellatrix's arm, and he told her again, "You're going to be fine."

She had no idea why he was so troubled as he walked away. She just set her plate down on a the tray held by a passing House-Elf, and she picked up a flute of Champagne, from which she sipped rather anxiously.

"Madam Riddle?"

At first she didn't respond to the name, for she had not yet grown accustomed to it. She sipped from her Champagne again, and then she heard a voice meekly say once more,

"M-Madam Riddle?"

Bellatrix whirled then, and she found herself face-to-face with Abraxas Malfoy.

"Oh. Hello, Abraxas." It was odd for Bellatrix to see him, for she'd always known him as the father of Lucius, who had been Narcissa's boyfriend even in Bellatrix's time. In 1996, Abraxas had been dead, and his grandson, Draco, was Bellatrix's nephew. But now, Abraxas looked like he'd been quickly indulging in the party's offerings of liquor, and his pale blue eyes were glassy. He stared at Bellatrix's chest for a moment, and Bellatrix gulped.

"Where's Adalie?" she asked bluntly, and Abraxas cleared his throat and raised his eyes.

"Oh. She's not here," Abraxas said. Bellatrix scowled and shook her head in confusion. Abraxas tipped his head and said delicately,

"The few times Druella and Adalie have met, they… erm… they haven't gotten along too well."

"Is that so?" That was amusing to Bellatrix, for she'd always known Adalie Malfoy as a warm older French witch, a close friend of her mother Druella. At some point, the witches would have to reconcile so that their children could marry. But Bellatrix just shrugged and joked, "So you're here stag, are you?"

"I was wondering if you might honour me with a dance," Malfoy said, and Bellatrix felt her eyes go wide. She glanced over to Voldemort, who was speaking to her smiling young parents, and she gulped. If she turned Abraxas Malfoy down, she risked the hospitality upon which Lord Voldemort currently relied. But if she accepted, she might anger her husband.

"All right. One quick dance," Bellatrix said, setting down her Champagne. Malfoy held his hand out, but Bellatrix didn't take it. She walked slowly with him toward the dance floor, and she gingerly accepted his hand and put her fingers on his shoulder. He had his icy blond hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, and his severe face looked sharper than ever. He was tall and hulking, overwhelming Bellatrix with his size. His eyes flicked to her shimmering bared chest again, and then up to her eyes, and he told her tightly,

"You're looking lovely this evening, Madam Riddle."

"I think he wants you to call me _My Lady_ ," Bellatrix said awkwardly as they began to dance. Malfoy looked surprised, but he nodded.

"He was so impressive at the meeting the other day. I admit I was almost dizzy with excitement."

"I think we all were," Bellatrix agreed. "He's going to lead us to glory."

"So he will," Abraxas agreed. They danced in silence then for a few moments, and after awhile, Bellatrix asked,

"Do you ever visit Adalie's family in France?"

"Oh. Yes. They live just outside Paris in a lovely chateau," Malfoy said. "We're due to spend Christmas there. You and the Dark Lord will have Malfoy Manor to yourselves, if that's all right."

"The Dark Lord," Bellatrix repeated with a little smile. "I quite like the sound of that."

"I quite like the idea of his reign," Malfoy said firmly. Bellatrix felt more comfortable dancing with Malfoy then, as if his lust had given way to a sturdy loyalty. She smiled up at him and said,

"He knows he can rely on you. You'll be the one he counts on first when times are trying, Abraxas."

Malfoy seemed quite proud then, but his face shifted and he bowed his head, stepping away from Bellatrix, and he murmured, "My Lord."

"Mind if I cut in, Malfoy?" Voldemort smoothly took Malfoy's place and put his hands onto Bellatrix, pulling her much closer to his body than she'd been to Malfoy.

"Thank you for the dance, My Lady," Malfoy said, and he strode away purposefully. Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow and said,

"He was lusting after you. I sensed it."

"We were discussing you, Master," Bellatrix insisted, and Voldemort nodded.

"I know. You're good servants, the both of you. Your poor father's bloody terrified. Do you know he's a virgin?"

"My Lord!" Bellatrix curled up her lip in disgust as Voldemort laughed. "Why would you tell me that? Oh, I did _not_ need to know… oh. Eugh. Master."

"Sorry. I'm sorry." He stifled a grin then and rubbed his hand at the small of her back. He just studied her for a long moment, and he observed, "You do look like her. Your mother. Difficult to deny some degree of relation, but… oh, well."

"What if I'm not born?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort sighed. He shrugged and said,

"All we can do is keep on living, I think."

"Malfoy's going to Adalie's family's house in France for Christmas. Do you know that she and my mother hate one another right now? Isn't that funny?"

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Yes, Adalie's always had a flair for the dramatic. Skipping a wedding… that's just like the Adalie I knew for more than forty years. Anyway. We'll have the Manor to ourselves for Christmas, then? Hmm. I've never really celebrated Christmas properly."

"No?" Bellatrix grinned. "I'll have to put a dozen presents under a tree for you."

"No." Voldemort shook his head and pulled her even closer. "All I need is a Wizarding Wireless with some maudlin carols playing, some decorated biscuits, and a pretty witch curled up beside me."

"Will you play with my hair?" Bellatrix asked meaningfully as she stared up at him. "Whilst you listen to those carols on the wireless, Master, will you play with my hair? I always liked when you did that."

"Yes, Bellatrix," he said seriously. "I will play with your hair and eat honey tart with you. And I won't leave you this time. You understand?"

She smiled and tightened her hand around his. "I understand, My Lord."

 **Author's Note: Nothing better than putting glitter on your boobs and watching your parents get married, am I right? Mwah hahaha. But don't get too comfortable… no way I'm going to let these two have a nice, peaceful, relaxing Christmas. :}**


	37. Chapter 37

She was doing this for him.

That was what Bellatrix kept thinking as she aimed her wand at the three-storey Tudor building before her. A Mudblood and his Muggle wife lived here, and their two children were home on holiday from Hogwarts. It was Christmas Eve, and these people had dirty blood. This was Bellatrix's Christmas gift to Lord Voldemort, destroying the entire flat in this small town outside Bournemouth where the Mudblood and his family lived.

" _Finestra,_ " Bellatrix incanted, aiming her wand at a ground-level window. She methodically moved from one window to another and first broke the window, then sent flames inside. " _Finestra… Incendio. Finestra… Incendio._ "

She'd done this for him in other times, in other places. Screams started to sound from inside the building, and Bellatrix smirked as she lowered her wand. Embers began to fly out from the building, and the heat was getting intense.

"Oy!" cried a voice from behind her. Bellatrix whirled around with her wand up, and she was shocked to see another wand aimed at her. She didn't recognise the wizard who had his wand pointed at her, but as she shivered in the December cold, she studied the man's face and wondered if he was the Mudblood who lived in the building.

"What have you done?" the man demanded frantically, and Bellatrix laughed.

"It would seem I've set a fire."

" _Expelli -"_

"No." Bellatrix Silenced the wizard and quickly Hexed him. " _Tetraplegus._ "

He yelped as he collapsed to the ground, and Bellatrix laughed to see him paralysed. But then, very suddenly, there was a chorus of screams from behind her, and Bellatrix turned slowly to see that the roof of the building she'd lit afire was collapsing. For some reason, all she could do was stare at it as it slowly fell. The burning wood crashed to the ground around her, and she felt a rush of excitement as she heard a woman shriek that she'd phoned the fire brigade from her building, and another woman exclaim that it was too late.

" _S-Stupefy!"_

Bellatrix was shocked as she looked to see that the partially-paralysed wizard had regained enough movement to grab his wand and aim it at Bellatrix. She gasped as she was rocketed backward, and she was distantly aware of heat, blistering heat.

When she came to, she smelled the distinct odor of burning hair. She looked up to see a Muggle fire engine spraying water at the shell of the building beside her. There were ambulances, too - the motor cars that were designed to take people to hospital. Suddenly a Muggle woman came up to Bellatrix and said kindly,

"Don't worry, dear; we're going to get a stretcher for you in just a moment."

"What? No." Bellatrix shook her head, which hurt badly. She tried to crawl forward, realising that some snow had fallen while she'd been unconscious. The Muggle woman bent to try and help Bellatrix, and Bellatrix shoved her roughly away, eliciting a gasp of horror. Bellatrix wrenched herself to her feet, and then she saw the wizard who had Stupefied her.

He was a constable. He was - or was pretending to be - a Muggle constable, the bastard. He was standing in front of the burning building, directing people, surreptitiously aiming his wand here and there at the injured people they were dragging out of the building.

Bellatrix had a broken left arm. That was very obvious. She had also hurt her neck, and she could tell that some of her hair had been burnt. Her lower back hurt so badly she could hardly stand. But she would need to Apparate, she knew. She didn't have a choice.

"Wonder if someone's Christmas tree caught fire," she heard someone say.

"How awful. Christmas Eve of all nights. I heard the entire Jones family was found dead," said another voice. Bellatrix ignored them. She whipped out her wand, aimed it at the constable who had Stupefied her, and she shrieked,

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Then she Disapparated, hoping against hope that she wouldn't Splinch herself.

* * *

"Master!"

Voldemort looked up from the book on Necromancy he'd been reading. He flicked his wand at the Wizarding Wireless above the fireplace in the lounge and stood. He padded barefoot out into the corridor and called,

"Bellatrix?"

"M-My Lord? Please… please… help!"

He set off running then, toward the sound of her voice, and his heart accelerated in his chest. He turned a corner and found her collapsed in the corridor, half-lying and half-kneeling, heaving with uneven breaths. She smelled like fire, and it was obvious that part of her dress had burned away. Her left arm was hanging awkwardly, very obviously broken.

"Bella." Voldemort approached her and crouched down, and he murmured, " _Legilimens._ "

He watched in her mind as she appeared in a village outside Bournemouth with the intention of destroying a building where a Mudblood and his Muggle wife and his Hogwarts student offspring lived. She wanted to do this as a Christmas gift for Voldemort. There were Christmas garlands and wreaths everywhere, and the cold night air carried the sound of distant caroling.

She started breaking windows, setting fires. Then she turned around and found herself staring at a wand. She paralysed the unknown wizard, and soon enough was unconscious in the burning wreckage of the Muggle flat. Then she was being aided by a Muggle paramedic, and she was murdering the wizard who was posing as a Muggle constable so he could secretly help the wounded. She was fleeing, Disapparating.

"You were seen," Voldemort breathed. "When the Ministry questions those people, they'll all tell them… they'll say they saw a young woman with black curls. They'll… Bella. This is bad. This is very bad."

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled, and Voldemort snapped,

"What on Earth were you thinking?"

"I didn't think a wizard would appear," Bellatrix insisted. "I thought… thought it'd be like the other times… set the fires and leave."

Voldemort let out a slow breath through his nostrils. He nodded. "Right. It's Christmas Eve. They'll have barebones staff investigating this, and not until the twenty-sixth at the earliest. I'll send letters tonight to everyone I know at the Ministry. I'll get employees Confounded, documents changed. I'll fix this. But, first, I've got to fix you. You're good at setting fires, and you're also good and getting hurt. I'm going to Levitate you. _Wingardium Leviosa._ "

He dragged her down the corridor, and as he did, Bellatrix moaned softly, "I'm so sorry, Master. I've let you down terribly. I always do. I always fail you."

"Do shut up," Voldemort snarled, but Bellatrix continued moaning,

"I never serve you properly. I just wanted to give you a Christmas gift, and I -"

" _Somnolus._ " Voldemort put Bellatrix to sleep, knowing that her self-loathing was being made much worse by shock and pain, anyway. He brought her into the lounge where he'd been, and he set her out on the plush, comfortable sofa. He arranged pillows beneath her head and began murmuring spells from where he stood above her,

" _Ferula._ " Her arm mended its break and was braced up. He dragged his wand around her scrapes and bruises. " _Episkey. Episkey…"_

He touched at her burnt hair and shook his head. " _Capilli Renasci._ "

Her curls regenerated, the crisped ends giving way to fresh new growth. He fixed up her singed clothes, her damaged boots, her dented gold pendant. He Scoured her whole body over and over until the smell of burning was gone, and he replaced it with a gingerbread aroma. He finally pulled her boots off of her feet, sat beside her head, twined his fingers into her hair, and started the Wireless up again.

" _Rennervate,_ " he whispered, and Bellatrix blinked her eyes open. She stared for a moment at her broken arm in its cast, and she hissed out a little noise of regret.

"It was meant to be a Christmas gift, My Lord," she insisted.

He smirked a little and said, "You know, ordinary people give ordinary gifts. But I wouldn't trade you for all the world, not your unconventional gifts."

"Oh." She sounded a little emotional at that, and then she surprised him by insisting, "You won't hurt my arm making love to me if I just keep it carefully arranged on a pillow."

Voldemort laughed softly and shook his head. "Perhaps tomorrow, Bella. Shall I give you your Christmas gift now? It might brighten your mood a little."

"If you want," she said quietly. Voldemort rose and walked over to the stout, tall Christmas tree in the corner of the lounge, under which there was a square box wrapped in dark green paper. Voldemort's hands shook a little as he pulled the box out from under the tree. He let out a steadying breath as he carried it over to the sofa. He knelt down before Bellatrix, who sat up a little and winced.

"Would you like something for the pain?" Voldemort asked, but Bellatrix shook her head.

"It's Christmas Eve. I don't don't want to blurry."

He smiled a little and nodded. He put the long box in her lap, and as he helped her unwrap it, he informed her,

"I gave you this exact same thing in 1974. Just so you know."

"Oh." Bellatrix seemed a little confused then, but she did her best to open the box one-handed, and she pulled out the pair of shoes inside. They were sturdy boots, yet very stylish, with a sensible zip up the inside and buttons and velvet for decoration. Bellatrix grinned. "I quite like these."

"They are… fireproof," Voldemort said with a smirk. "Waterproof. Potion-proof. They're battle boots, but still stylish for your pretty, vicious little feet. I had them made especially for you. You liked them then. You… you wore them in battle all the time. You'd be running through mud, setting fires, and come out looking perfectly fashionable. I… I can still see you… erm…"

He stopped then, for his eyes were burning oddly. He raised his gaze up to Bellatrix, who was staring down at one of the boots. She dragged a thumb over one of the buttons, and as Voldemort's stomach lurched, he noted,

"You know, I never did see you wear them after you married Rodolphus. I dunno; they might have worn out. Anyway. If I'd known where you were going tonight, I'd have given them to you earlier. Happy Christmas, Bellatrix."

"Happy Christmas, My Lord," she said, her voice sounding thick, like she were on the verge of tears. She hesitated and then said, "When you gave me the necklace, you said you never gave me gifts the first time round."

"Oh. Well. I did give you things, every now and then. Not maudlin gifts for birthdays, or Valentine's, or... I gave you these boots, and a few other things. Practical things." Voldemort's cheeks went hot. He gulped and insisted, "Only when I thought you needed something."

"What were the other gifts?" Bellatrix asked, but Voldemort shook his head vehemently.

"You can just thank me for these and wish me a Happy Christmas, all right?"

She looked embarrassed then. "Yes. Thank you, Master. Happy Christmas."

He helped her try the boots on, for she was one-handed for now. She seemed quite pleased with them, but when she stood, she yelped in pain, clutching at her lower back.

"Lie down." Voldemort examined her, and it seemed she had some sort of severe bruise or fracture in her lower spine. He frowned, realising she was going to be out of commission for a while. He aimed his wand at her and murmured, " _Episkey. Ferula._ "

Then he helped her get her new boots off, and he went to the office Malfoy had given him - the office he would know well in both the 1970s and the 1990s - so that he could try and get ahead of any damage Bellatrix had done by being seen by Muggles in the village that night.

 **Author's Note: Oh, Bellatrix. She just wanted to give her husband the gift of dead people and fire. Raise your hand if you're antsy for a fluffy lemon where sexy young Voldemort's trying not to hurt Bellatrix on Christmas morning! Mwah hahaha.**


	38. Chapter 38

"Mmph… it's morning," Bellatrix mumbled from where she lay. "That means it's _Christmas_ morning. Happy Christmas, My Lord."

She pushed herself up to sit and shoved her curls out of her eyes with her right hand. Voldemort blinked up at her from where he lay. He smirked at her and said,

"Oh, good. Your lovely hair's all grown back from where it was burned away last night."

Bellatrix sighed. "I'm sorry. I really botched things, Master. Didn't I?"

He raised his eyebrows and put his hands behind his head. "You did, a bit. I sent letters to friends in the Ministry. I think I've got it under control."

"Some gift," Bellatrix muttered. She glanced down at her left arm, which was in a cast, and she asked, "How long does this blasted thing have to be on?"

"Usually only a week or so with the help of magic, I think," Voldemort said. "You know, when I was seven years old, I broke my arm falling down stairs in the orphanage. The Muggle doctor spent hours getting it splinted and cast and everything, and I had to be in the cast for two and a half months."

Bellatrix felt her eyes go wide. "Well, I'm glad it's not like that, My Lord."

"Ought to be loads of fun explaining in a week at the meeting why it is you're still banged up," he said, and Bellatrix's cheeks went hot.

"I'm truly sorry, Master."

"Mmm… you look pretty in the morning," Voldemort told her. He reached up for her reddened cheek. "You're pretty all the time, but… I was worried last night, when I saw you lying in the corridor. I don't much like worrying over you."

She smiled a little and covered his hand with hers. He peeled back the blankets a little and revealed the sizeable lump in his pyjama trousers. Bellatrix smirked and murmured,

"Men are often hard when they wake, hmm?"

"Been awake for over an hour," he told her. Bellatrix moved a little then, sliding until she was straddling him, and he hissed when he realised she didn't have knickers on beneath her short nightgown. Bellatrix threaded her right fingers through his thick hair, and she told him,

"I like the way your hair's a mess in the morning."

"Do you?" His breath hitched a little, and she tightened her fingers. She felt his firmness swell up beneath her, and she ground her hips down harder. Bellatrix leaned forward and touched her lips to his cheekbone, and she whispered,

"I've got all sorts of gifts for you downstairs, Master. Nothing expensive, seeing as I haven't got money. But you said you'd never celebrated Christmas properly, so…"

"I thought my gift was meant to be dead Mudbloods and burned out buildings," he laughed, and Bellatrix tucked her face into his neck.

"I'm sorry," she huffed. His hand went to her stomach, and he mumbled a quick contraceptive charm. Then she heard him ask in a quiet, almost uncertain voice,

"Do you want it, or are you too sore?"

"I want you." She was very certain, and she pulled back to nod vigorously at him.

He gave her a serious look and asked, "Am I going to hurt you?"

"No," Bellatrix said with feigned confidence. Voldemort narrowed his eyes at her, but he pushed his pyjama trousers down a little, and Bellatrix felt herself flush wet with desire. She rose up and then sank down with his help, and she arched back at the feel of him entering her. He braced her against him, one hand at the small of her back and the other burrowed in her hair. Bellatrix snared her right arm around him once he was completely sheathed within her, and her left arm hung uselessly beside her. Suddenly one of Voldemort's hands squeezed a breast, and Bellatrix moaned a little as she rocked. She liked this; this felt _good_. It did ache distantly in her lower back. Her neck was hurting. But she ignored the pain and winced through it, burying her face into the crook of Voldemort's neck as she used her knees to help her move.

She wasn't going to come, not when it hurt like this. She was determined not to let him know that it hurt, but after just a moment, he took gentle hold of her waist, and he said softly,

"Yet another reason I need to teach you Occlumency."

"What?" Bellatrix breathlessly pulled back, and Voldemort gave her a judgmental look.

"Your back and neck hurt. Your arm's aching. You've still got a headache."

"No. I'm fine." Bellatrix started to move more vigorously, to rock with a purpose, and Voldemort leaned back against his hands as he stared up at her, shaking his head a little.

"I don't want to hurt… hurt… _oh._ "

His eyes fluttered shut, and Bellatrix smirked. She raked her fingernails very gently down his bare chest, then rubbed with her one good hand at his shoulder and arm. She began pumping her hips until she could feel his tip slamming up inside of her, until he was grinding her just so, and in spite of her pain, her legs began to shake and her ears began to ring a little.

"I'm going to come," she whispered, and Voldemort scoffed in disbelief.

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am," she protested. She shut her eyes for a moment, and then she squeezed hard at Voldemort's bicep and ground herself in a way that felt just perfect ten or twelve times. Suddenly she lost herself, and she wrenched her eyes tightly shut as a subtle climax took her over. She'd certainly had more intense orgasms in her life, but it still felt good, and it still seemed to push Voldemort over his own phantom edge. He groaned rather loudly and seized Bellatrix's waist, making her yelp in pain.

"Sorry! Oh, Merlin's Beard. Sorry."

She opened her eyes to see him tip his head back and wordlessly grunt a little. She felt him twitch inside of her, and he collapsed back against his pillows as he released his grip on her. Bellatrix smiled and snaked her fingers into his hair again.

"We're a right mess," she noted as he came down from his high. They were, after all, tangled up, half-dressed, smelling of sex and morning breath, with Bellatrix in a cast. He laughed a little and shrugged.

"The first time _you_ remember me having you, I was a grey-faced monster without a nose who refused to take my robes off. I'd say we're doing fine, all things considered."

"Well, I'm going to get dressed," Bellatrix said, "because I've got loads of presents for you."

* * *

"You… weren't joking." Voldemort grinned as he knelt beside the Christmas tree. Bellatrix adjusted the Wireless until carols were playing audibly in the lounge, and she curled up on the sofa. She smiled and told him,

"I sent away for everything by owl. Nothing's expensive. Promise."

His eyes welled a little then, so he turned his attention toward a random branch of the Christmas tree. In the first 1970s he remembered living, he'd never spent Christmas with Bellatrix. That would have been entirely too emotional. She'd always spent the holiday with her parents. Sometimes a card and a small gift would come to him by owl from her, but he always refused to acknowledge it. One year, he'd bought a pretty necklace for her, but he'd decided on Christmas Eve not to give it to her, and he'd wound up Vanishing it. He gulped hard and picked up one of the boxes under the tree here at Malfoy Manor, and when he opened the box, he said gratefully,

"An Ever-Cool Firewhisky Tumbler. That's very nice. Thank you."

"I could only afford one. Sorry." Bellatrix sounded self-conscious. She was used to being wealthy, Voldemort knew, but here, they still didn't have liquid assets. He set the glass on the low table in the centre of the lounge and assured her,

"You'll be the richest witch in wizarding Britain soon enough. Shopkeeps will give you merchandise for free to try and win my favour. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Master," she said with a meek smile. He tapped the glass and said again,

"Thank you."

He opened some more gifts - spruce-scented shampoo and conditioner, dragon jerky, a pleasantly oceanic cologne enchanted to last three days, hair pomade that would slick up his tresses without coming off on his hands, and three new crisp white shirts to go under his robes, along with two new ties. Voldemort realised the common denominator about all the gifts. They were all incredibly intimate. Personal grooming products. Clothes. Food she knew he liked. These were gifts a wife gave a husband, which, of course, made since, given that they were married. Still, as he raised his eyes to her and remembered Christmases spent knowing she was with Rodolphus, his stomach ached a little.

"Thank you, Bellatrix." He nodded and Banished all the gifts up to their suite with a quick swish of his wand. He Vanished the wrapping paper and stood, moving to sit beside her on the sofa. He folded his hands over the lap of the velvet dressing-gown he wore, and he admitted, "I didn't get you anything besides the boots, I'm afraid. I wasn't expected a big gift exchange; we've never done one."

"Well, the tradition begins now," Bellatrix exclaimed, and her grin was so pretty that Voldemort's chest hurt. He tucked her hair behind her ear and said,

"You know, my favourite gift is the mess you made outside Bournemouth."

She laughed a bit and reminded him, "It didn't really turn out as a gift, Master."

"It's the thought that counts," he said with a smirk. Then, going serious, he told her, "Happy Christmas, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix picked at the sofa a little bit and asked carefully, "Did I ever… did we ever spend this day together?"

"No," he said honestly, turning his eyes to the fire. "You were always with your parents, or, later, Rodolphus. I was always alone. I never minded until you were with him."

"With Rodolphus," Bellatrix said softly, and Voldemort cleared his throat.

"I've told you that I wasn't the same afterward. I think it was my biggest mistake, marrying you off to him. I turned myself into a paranoid, weak shell of a… I was ruined. I remember Christmas of 1979. I vividly remember it, because it was snowing, which was unusual. At the next meeting, you had these new boots on, these black ugly boots that Rodolphus had given you, and you were bragging that they'd been nice and snowproof. I remember wondering if you'd just thrown mine into the rubbish bin. It was… stupid. I don't know."

Bellatrix shifted on the sofa beside him, and she reminded him, "He isn't even born yet here, and I'm married to you, and you've given me beautiful boots that I shall treasure forever, and it's Christmas, and we are together. Master."

"Mmm-hmm." He turned his face to her and nodded solemnly. "I'm going to do things the right way this time, Bellatrix."

"I'll help by not mucking up missions from now on," she promised with a sad little smile, and he laughed, reaching to brush his knuckles over the cast on her left arm.

"Happy Christmas, Bellatrix."

"Happy Christmas, My Lord."

 **Author's Note: I hate complaining about reviews, but the last chapter currently has 236 views and zero reviews! Eek! I hope that doesn't mean people hated it! Or maybe FF isn't showing me reviews? IDK! I'm just not used to seeing that many people read it without any feedback at all. If you get just a quick moment to drop me a line, I'd really appreciate it! Thanks so much.**

 **And, yes, if you were paying attention, we do have a meeting of the brand spanky new Death Eater organization coming on up… just in time for Voldemort's birthday. What will that meeting look like? And has he actually managed to cover up damage from Bellatrix being seen by Muggles, or will there be fallout? And did he mention teaching her Occlumency? Mwah hahahaha…**


	39. Chapter 39

They'd agreed that Occlumency was essential.

After all, Lord Voldemort had pointed out, Bellatrix knew things that could unravel the entirety of wizarding society if they came to light. Realities about families, about lives and deaths, weddings and divorces. She knew about slayings and imprisonments, about robberies and wealth seizures. She knew about the crimes she'd committed, the crimes others would commit. She had imagery of Voldemort as a grey-faced creature.

She knew far too much. If he hadn't loved her, he would have killed her, of course. But he did love her, so, instead, he would teach her Occlumency. He'd told her to dress and meet him in his office, and he would do the same. Now he opened his office door, and he frowned as he shut the door behind him.

She was shaking a little where she sat in the chair near his desk. Crying. She didn't hear him come in. Voldemort frowned and approached her slowly. They only had a little time to work on this today, since they had a meeting with the group that would be his Death Eaters scheduled. He cleared his throat, and Bellatrix whirled round as she flew to her feet.

Or, at least, that was what she tried to do. She stumbled a little, and by the way she leaned heavily on his desk, he realised at once what the source of her crying was.

"You are in pain," he said, but Bellatrix shook her head wildly.

"I can't still be taking potions for pain," she said roughly. "I am stronger than this."

Voldemort tipped his head. "Bellatrix. You got thrown into a burning building."

"It was my own fault," she pointed out in a low voice, shaking with discomfort. "I have mental magic to practise. A meeting to attend. I can't be drugged. I will push through the pain. It will heal soon enough."

"You've a fractured sacrum and a sprained neck," Voldemort reminded her, for he'd run diagnostics on her two days earlier when her pain had not eased. "Your arm is still healing from a break. Give yourself a little grace, Bellatrix."

"I made a mistake, and I am paying the price," she snarled. "Now, Master, if you will be kind enough to begin my lessons."

She sat slowly, tenderly, and Voldemort sighed as he made his way around the other side of the desk to sit in his own chair. Her face was still bruised, from her jaw all up along the side to her forehead. Butterfly Weed Balm was helping, but it was still visible. She was sitting oddly. Her lips were swollen; they'd been torn up by debris, but the swelling still hadn't gone down completely. Voldemort sighed a little and asked,

"Do you like the look of my hair? I tried the new pomade today… thought I'd try it for the meeting. How's it look?"

She smiled weakly then and told him, "You look very sleek and handsome, Master. It's shiny."

He laughed a little and nodded. "I'm wearing the cologne you got me, as well. I appreciate all your gifts."

"You don't have to be nice to me, My Lord," Bellatrix protested. "I hurt myself being stupid. It's my own fault."

He drummed his fingers on the desk and informed her, "Your tendency for wallowing in your errors has always annoyed me a bit, Bella."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and he said crisply,

"Let's get to it, shall we? Occlumency. It's complex, but it can be broken down into… you know, sort of building blocks. We'll begin with the most basic tenet, which is removing emotion, or removing yourself from the emotion of a memory. The way we'll tackle this is that I shall yank at a memory that I think will elicit a particularly strong emotional reaction from you. Your job is to make your mind blank in reaction to this."

"Well, how do I do that?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort said,

"My strategy is to imagine a very empty place. The Moon always comes to mind. There is no wind. No air. No water. There are no people. There are no feelings there - no pain, no joy, no hate, no love. It is empty and still, and so I put myself there. Think of a place like that. Your own empty nothingness. Can you imagine it?"

Bellatrix had shut her eyes, and she nodded. "No joy, no pain. No fear, no love, no hate. No one at all. No food, no hunger. I can feel it there. I can see it, Master."

"Good," he said. "Now. When I yank at a memory that makes you feel strongly, I want you to go to that empty nothing. You understand?"

"Yes, My Lord," she replied, opening her eyes and bravely matching his gaze. He smiled a little at her and whispered,

"Three, two, one… _Legilimens._ "

Her mind was a whirlwind, but he very quickly found a vision of himself before he'd been grey, when he'd still had a nose. He was older; he was in his early forties. His features were ugly from all the Horcruxes he'd made. His nose was bent and his lips were curled a bit. One eye drooped slightly and was cloudy. His hair was wispy, retreating from his wrinkled forehead. His handsomeness had long faded. But at least he still looked human.

' _I think you'll serve me well, little Miss Bellatrix Black,' he was saying, his voice teasing. Bellatrix stared up at him as though she were entirely in awe. She was so young, standing there in her Hogwarts uniform, and she promised him,_

' _I'll serve you this year and next at school, Master, and then I'll be your full-time soldier. I'll show you. You can trust me.'_

 _He smirked. 'Well. I can already tell that much.'_

 _Weeks later, she was in a bed in her Slytherin dormitory, the curtains drawn on her bed. She had her hand buried beneath her skirt and as her eyelids fluttered shut and her fingertips touched her quim, she whispered,_

' _My Lord… oh… Master…'_

' _Bellatrix! We're going to the Quidditch match! Come on, or we'll be late!'_

' _I'm not coming!' Bellatrix called, which was not strictly true. 'Not feeling like it.'_

' _Fine,' said a surly girl beyond the curtains. Bellatrix quickened her hand._

"Put yourself in that great empty place, Bellatrix," Voldemort scolded her. His own cheeks were hot as he dug through the memory. He could feel himself flushing a little hard, and though he tried to stave it off, he found himself licking his bottom lip, and his breath was going a bit shallow. He barked at her, "Get yourself away from the memory."

But he could still feel the red flame of her lust around the scene, the burgundy throb of embarrassment, and as he watched her arch her back and come, as he heard her whisper _My Lord_ there in her dormitory bed, he clenched his hands around his office chair and snarled,

"Remove yourself from -"

He stopped then, because suddenly the scene was blank and empty. There was no emotion at all. She was writhing on the bed, panting, pink-cheeked and dry-lipped, but he felt none of the blazing want that had been there just a moment earlier. Bellatrix sat opposite him with her eyes shut, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

Voldemort extracted himself from her mind and sighed, and he nodded as he told her,

"That was… well done."

He gave her a moment to recover, knowing that now she'd be both mentally and physically tired. He cleared his throat, glancing down to see the bulge of an erection beneath his robes. He shook his head and scoffed,

"I should have looked at something a little less incendiary, perhaps."

"Oh. Well, that happened quite a lot, I'm afraid," Bellatrix said with a smirk. Voldemort threw up an eyebrow.

"Did it?"

"Yes." Bellatrix laughed and seemed surprisingly unashamed. "I wanted you so badly. I used to think of you and touch myself in that dormitory all the time, My Lord."

"Oh, my." Voldemort narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "You wanted me even when I was warped by Dark Magic. Even when I was grey and hideous."

"You were never, ever hideous to me, Master," Bellatrix insisted seriously, her eyes going a little wide. He scraped his teeth over his lip and nodded.

"And that's why I feel it - that thing I never thought I'd be able to experience," he said, and he knew she knew what he meant. Love. He loved her, and he had not ever thought that would be possible. But for her, for Bellatrix, he could feel almost anything. She made him feel profoundly human in a way that strengthened him. He gulped and tapped his knuckles on his desk, and he told her,

"You went blank. You went empty. That was very good for your first try. Next time, we'll work on you making your entire mind black and empty so I can't see anything at all. But for now… go and wait in the dining room. I'd like you to greet people for the meeting. I want to be the last one in the room, of course, but I'd like you in there first, as my representative."

Bellatrix smiled a little and nodded, rising slowly to her feet. She winced in pain and asked,

"What shall I say if anyone asks why I'm bruised and in a cast?"

Voldemort folded his arms over his chest and sighed. "Oh, I dunno. You might tell them that you murdered an angry Mudblood - after being badly injured by being thrown into the building you set on fire. Tell them something like that. Go."

Bellatrix smirked. "Yes, My Lord."

 **Author's Note: I want to give this upcoming meeting its own chapter, so I apologize for the brief length of this first Occlumency session. It's also no coincidence that Bellatrix has a fractured sacrum - I wrote that in because *I* have a fractured sacrum (yay for falling on ice a couple weeks ago). I'm good (I'm actually mostly trapped on a couch, which is good for writing, but I'm still on pain meds, which has arguably not been so great for quality of writing). Depending on how drowsy I am, I'll get the meeting chapter written either tonight or tomorrow during the day. I'm** _ **really**_ **looking forward to a certain exchange between Cygnus Black and Bellatrix. Mwah hahahaha. Thanks as always for reading, and a huge thanks for any and all feedback. I am really looking forward to the next five chapters or so of this story, and I hope you'll come with me!**


	40. Chapter 40

"Cygnus. I swear. I _still_ have a headache from your bloody stag do. Actually, I think I'm still drunk." Rudy Lestrange laughed, and so did a few of the others around the table. Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot, but her father, who was just as young now as she was, smirked.

"I just hope I didn't give Druella some wretched disease," he joked, and Bellatrix's mouth fell open in horror. Rudy Lestrange guffawed and said,

"Tell me you didn't actually _fuck_ that wench!"

"No. I didn't," Cygnus admitted. His cheeks pinked, and he said with a laugh, "Finished in my damned trousers before I had the chance."

Everyone around the table laughed again at that, except for Abraxas Malfoy, who looked very serious indeed and said,

"Gentlemen. I don't suppose the Dark Lord would approve of that sort of behaviour. Our movement is predicated upon purity of blood. For all any of you know, those Knockturn Alley whores are filthy Mudbloods. How can you prove otherwise? You think Pureblood girls are dancing in the Lazy Unicorn for a Sickle a go?"

"You're just sour that your pretty little French girl wouldn't let you come with us, Abraxas," Lestrange insisted, but Bellatrix finally piped up,

"Mr Malfoy is quite right. This has nothing to do with marital fidelity and everything to do with blood fidelity."

"With all respect, My Lady, aren't you a Half-Blood yourself?" Cygnus Black asked, and the room went deathly silent. Bellatrix cleared her throat softly and studied her father's face. She knew from experience that he didn't do well under a focused stare, so she gazed into his eyes until he shifted a little in discomfort. Finally, Bellatrix said,

"I am indeed a Half-Blood, Mr Black. I am also the wife of the wizard who is going to rescue wizarding Britain from a mire of dilution and desecration. I have spent years of my life in America, where merely holding a conversation with a No-Maj - a Muggle - carries a criminal penalty. For all you know, that girl who made you finish in your trousers grew up in some filthy Muggle flat… The very sort of Muggle flat I burned down last week. For all you know, that girl on your lap was a Mudblood, just like the Mudblood I killed with my own wand last week. Would you still care to question my devotion to blood purity, Mr Black?"

"Is there a problem, Bella?"

She snapped her face to the doorway, where Lord Voldemort had appeared. Bellatrix realised she was half standing, leaning with her good hand onto the table. Her father was staring at her, wide-eyed and terrified, and in his face, she saw a blend of recognition and confusion. He vibrated where he sat, and Bellatrix knew at once that Voldemort had Confounded him.

She'd made him think that he must know her. Something in her voice, in her tone and her face, had triggered a sense of dangerous familiarity within Cygnus Black III. Bellatrix sat tenderly, and very luckily, Voldemort sat at the head of the table and swiftly shifted the topic of conversation.

"Augustus Rookwood," he said. "I want to thank you for expertly covering up the incident outside Bournemouth. What explanation was given?"

"Simply that the Mudblood and his family died in the fire, along with some Muggles, My Lord," Rookwood said. "The Muggle newspaper covered the fire as an electrical incident likely caused by frayed wiring in a Christmas tree. I Confounded the only Ministry employee who demonstrated suspicion."

"Very well done," Voldemort nodded. "I should like you to be in charge for the time being of our operations at the Ministry. Yaxley?"

Corban Yaxley gave Voldemort a curious look, and Voldemort asked,

"You're working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"I am, sir," Yaxley nodded.

"Your charge is to spy on the Aurors. Get us personal information. I want to start a solid database. Soon enough, we'll begin targeted assassinations. They'll be most effective if they're important people and Aurors who simply disappear. The idea of that - of ultra-skilled law enforcement personnel vanishing - will terrify people. Meanwhile, we need to endear the populace to our cause. Mulciber, have you got your own column yet at the _Prophet?_ "

"It's only every two weeks," Mulciber conceded. "Other than that, I'm an assistant editor."

"Right. We need to sneak things into the paper. Just a sentence here and there. Noting that a famed Quidditch player comes from a storied Pureblood family. Being sure to mention that an arrested criminal was Muggle-born. Blood status needs to become part of the news, always to our advantage. If it's part of the news, it'll become part of the consciousness of wizarding Britain again. Dumbledore didn't want people thinking about blood status. We need to bring it back into the conversation."

"I'll begin working hard on that, My Lord," Mulciber promised. Voldemort turned his dark eyes down the table.

"Lestrange."

Rudy Lestrange sat up straight, and Bellatrix glared at him.

"Seems your headache's better," she said softly, and Voldemort gave her an emotionless look that shut her right up. He sighed and said to Lestrange,

"Congratulations."

Bellatrix frowned, but Lestrange smiled and bowed his head.

"Thank you. Forty-one hours of my wife in labour; I was so drunk by the time the little creature was born that I didn't realise it was a baby screaming instead of a witch." Lestrange seemed to think that was very funny indeed, but Bellatrix scowled and scoffed rather loudly. Voldemort finally gave her an impatient look and demanded,

"Sorry; have you something to contribute?"

Bellatrix shook her head and murmured, "No, Master. Nothing."

"Good." Voldemort turned his attention back to Lestrange. "Rabastan, is it?"

"Yes, My Lord," Lestrange confirmed. "A healthy boy, thank goodness. Already showing signs of magic; he flings little balls of light from his palms when he wants milk."

Voldemort curled his mouth into a mirthless smile and nodded. "Right. Take a few days with your family and then get back to work in the -"

"I'm already back to work, sir," Lestrange said coolly, and Voldemort nodded.

"Right. Dismissed, then. We'll meet again after the new year. Bella, stay."

He said those last two words harshly, and Bellatrix huffed a breath. She was surprised when, as the room as clearing, her father made his way over to her and said in a shy sort of tone,

"My Lady, I wanted to apologise for offending you."

"It's fine," Bellatrix said, staring up at him. She felt her eyes water, and she insisted, "You should be more loyal to Druella."

"Yes. You're right, of course," Cygnus said. He bowed a little, first to Bellatrix and then to Voldemort, and he walked quickly out of the room. Once the door shut behind him, Voldemort snapped,

"You can't explode in rage at your own father. You think he won't see your mother in you?"

Bellatrix looked at Voldemort in surprise. "My mother?"

"Yes." Voldemort nodded. He scoffed and shook his head. "I went to school with them. You're just like your mother at this age when you start shouting."

"Oh." Bellatrix licked her lip nervously and shrugged. "He made me angry, Master. He was being disgusting. He was talking about a… a… prostitute."

"A dancer, I think," Voldemort said. "Those girls at the Lazy Unicorn won't put your cock in them no matter how much you pay them."

Bellatrix gave him a wide-eyed, horrified stare. "How would you know?"

He laughed a little and demanded, "You think I spent all those years working at Borgin and Burkes without any -"

"You're tormenting me for fun!" Bellatrix flew to her feet, then wobbled in pain, and Voldemort's face shifted. He stood, steadied Bellatrix with his hands on her shoulders, and bent to touch his forehead to hers.

"I'm sorry. That was rotten of me. I've never been in the Lazy Unicorn, and I'd never go. And Malfoy was right; I do not want my Death Eaters getting dances from those dirty witches, much less sleeping with them. Goodness knows where the blazes they come from. I'm sorry you had to hear your father talk like that. But you must control your temper."

"I'm not sure how else I was meant to handle that situation," Bellatrix insisted, and Voldemort sighed. He kissed her forehead and said quietly,

"It is odd, isn't it? Being back here… in this time, before you were even born? You never lived these years. I lived them. I know them. But I know other things, too. So it is strange. I am not angry with you. But we must be careful. Understood?"

"Understood, My Lord." She breathed in the scent of him, the oceanic cologne she'd bought him for Christmas. His birthday was the next day, though of course Bellatrix had clear run out of money to buy him gifts. She wasn't very good at budgeting. She'd never had to do it.

"I told Dobby to bake you a birthday cake." She raised her eyes to him, and Voldemort smirked and shook his head.

"I've never had a birthday cake."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open. "What? Never?"

"No. Never." Voldemort laughed a little. He laced his fingers into Bellatrix's hair and told her, "You tried once. In… 1973, I think. You invited yourself over, tried to celebrate my birthday with me, but I told you I was busy."

His smile disappeared then, and suddenly his dark eyes looked awfully regretful. He dug his teeth into his lip and told her,

"I wish… I wish I hadn't sent you away. There was a New Year's party in the Malfoy ballroom and I was sitting alone in my office. You wanted to celebrate my birthday, and I told you I was busy. I fucked you on my desk and then sent you off to the New Year's party. And I spent the night alone. Staring at the fire in my fireplace, drinking firewhisky. Alone for no reason at all. Just because I didn't want you to feel…"

"Special," Bellatrix whispered, and Voldemort nodded. Bellatrix took his face in her good hand. She swallowed hard and asked him,

"Will you blow out candles tomorrow, My Lord?"

He curled up half his mouth. "Twenty-four candles or seventy candles?"

"Seventy, to be certain," she nodded. "More fire. More fun."

He laughed a little and nodded. "I'll blow out your damned candles, little girl."

"And then will you send me away?" she asked cautiously. "The Malfoys are having a few people over to celebrate the New Year. Will you make me spend the night with them while you sit alone in your office?"

"No." He shook his head and took her hand in his. He kissed her knuckles and murmured playfully, "In the morning, I'll blow out seventy candles and have cake for breakfast. And then I'll make love to you. And then I'll have cake for lunch. And then I'll make love to you. And perhaps I'll think about some real food at the party, and I'll keep you close to me, because you'll undoubtedly be wearing something very attractive, and all the other men will want you. And at midnight, I'll kiss you until I've got your lipstick all over me, and then I'll carry you upstairs and make more love to you and eat the last of the cake, and by then it won't even be my birthday anymore."

Bellatrix was laughing now, and her heart began to race as she reminded him,

"At some point tomorrow, Master, we have to fit in an Occlumency lesson."

"Oh. Yes. In between the making love and the lunch cake," he suggested, and Bellatrix grinned.

"That sounds perfect," she said, and she asked him, "You're not cross with me for yelling at my father?"

Voldemort shrugged. "No. I'd have yelled at him, too, if I were in your shoes."

"Boots," Bellatrix corrected. She stuck out a foot and showed him the boots he'd gotten her, the same ones he'd given her once upon a time that would never be. His face went serious again, and he nodded, and he said softly,

"I think that meeting went well. Rookwood and Yaxley will do well at the Ministry. Mulciber will do well at the _Prophet._ I'm going to go draw up some plans for them. See you later."

Without another word, he whirled on his heel and strode from the meeting room, his robes billowing out around him.

 **Author's Note: Whew! I don't get to complain about a lack of reviews when I don't give readers enough time in between updates to review, right? Ha. Well, to those who do take a quick moment to drop a line, whether through a private message or a review, many thanks. Next up… Birthday/New Year's/Occlumency. Buckle your seatbelts. :}**


	41. Chapter 41

" _Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you…"_

Voldemort blinked his eyes open, and when he sat up slowly, Bellatrix had a cake hovering beside the bed, her wand carefully aimed at it. Seventy candles blazed, so Voldemort started laughing and interrupted her singing by muttering,

"Going to burn down the entire blasted manor."

" _Happy birthday, dear Master. Happy birthday to you,_ " Bellatrix finished. "If you can get all of these out in one breath, I shall be very seriously impressed."

Voldemort shook his head, inhaled deeply, and blew as hard as he could, but he only managed a third or so of the candles.

"It's a damned inferno," he complained. "What twenty-year-old, much less seventy-year-old, could possibly blow all of these out?"

"I'll help you," Bellatrix said, and she approached the cake. They kept blowing until finally all the candles were extinguished, and then Bellatrix lowered the cake onto the table beside the bed. She began Vanishing the candles, and she asked in disbelief,

"So you've really never blown out birthday candles, Master?"

"No. Never," he admitted. Bellatrix frowned, still Vanishing candles, and demanded,

"Couldn't those damned Muggles be bothered to give a child a birthday cake at the orphanage?"

He didn't answer her, and she looked up, her pretty brown eyes wide with horror.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, but Voldemort shook his head and said,

"No. It's… erm… No. They could not be bothered. And then, you know, at Hogwarts, everyone was always home for Christmas holidays over my birthday. By the time I graduated, I didn't care anymore."

"Well," Bellatrix said quite firmly, "It may have taken you seventy years, My Lord, but you've officially done it. You have blown out birthday candles. And the other ceremonial bit is that you have to take the first bite."

She was using her wand now to carve up a slice of the vanilla cake, which she put onto a Conjured glass plate.

"Impressive magic, Bella. Truly," he told her. She smiled as she waved her wand just so and crafted a spoon that was just slightly wonky. She went red-cheeked and complained,

"You made me nervous."

"I'm sure it scoops cake just the same," he said, and he reached for the plate. But she approached him and dug the spoon into the cake herself, and he realised she meant to feed the bite to him. He narrowed his eyes at her and teased her,

"I'm not _that_ old. Don't need to be spoon fed quite yet."

She laughed and sat on the edge of the bed, and she whispered, "Just taste it."

He let her slip the spoon between his lips, and he moaned softly at the almond flavouring in the frosting. It was delicious. He swallowed the bite and flicked his eyes up and down Bellatrix's form, only now realising that she wore just a little wisp of a black nightgown, thin and short.

"I know how I want my cake served to me," he told her. "Lie down on the bed, Bellatrix."

She smirked and handed him the plate of cake, and she wisely peeled off her nightgown. She lay flat on her back on the bed, and Voldemort scooped a bite of cake and frosting into his spoon. He put it directly on her belly button, and Bellatrix laughed a little. The cake quivered, and Voldemort scolded her,

"Careful. That's my birthday cake, and I shall be very cross if you lose it."

Bellatrix covered her eyes and tried to stay still as she giggled. Her laughter turned into a soft gasp then as Voldemort dipped his head and ate the bite of cake off her belly. He dipped his tongue into her belly button to get all the frosting, and she whimpered helplessly. Next, he smeared frosting in a line up her stomach, and he worked his way northward, licking and sucking at her skin to clean it off.

"You're delectable," he informed her, but she was beyond joking back now. She drove her head back against the pillow and breathed heavily. Voldemort hovered over her and used his left hand to eat the rest of his slice of cake except for a bit of frosting. Meanwhile, he touched the pads of his right fingers between Bellatrix's legs. She squirmed a little, and Voldemort murmured,

"Stay still."

He used the spoon she'd Conjured to drop a dollop of frosting onto her right breast, and then he pushed the spoon and plate away a little. He pushed harder with his fingers, focusing on her clit, moving in circles just the way she liked. He dipped his head and brought her little breast into his mouth, her peaked nipple puckering harder than ever as he sucked at the frosting. She tasted so sweet, and he'd gone so firm that he thought he might just come on the sheets. He licked at her inside of his mouth, pulling at her nipple, drawing his tongue around her skin. He was determined to get every grain of sugar from her flesh into his mouth. The fingers of her right hand burrowed hard into his hair, and he heard her cry out,

" _Master!_ Oh… Oh, My Lord…"

It was just like when she'd been alone in her dormitory bed, in the memory he'd seen. Only this time, he was with her, and this time, he was handsome, and this time, they were married. So, really, it was nothing at all the same, except that she was crying out for him and on the verge of a climax.

He twisted his fingers into her and used his thumb to push hard against her clit, and with his left hand, he reached up to toy with her hair. For some reason, that pitched her over the edge. Her walls clamped around Voldemort's fingers, snapping hard and fast, and he groaned against the sweet skin of her breast. He lapped at the last remnants of frosting there, and then he came up and kissed her on the mouth, wondering if he tasted like cake or sleep or both. Her hand shook on his cheek as she came down from her high, and then she whispered,

"I took a potion early this morning. A Vacuoventris Potion. I'd sent away for it when I sent away for your Christmas gifts."

"Oh," Voldemort nodded breathlessly. "Oh. Good. That'll… that'll last a year."

He shoved down his pyjama trousers, suddenly very grateful that they wouldn't have to frantically reach for wands to cast last-second contraceptive charms. Bellatrix brought her legs up around his hips and snared the fingers of her right hand in his hair, and when he filled her, she gasped and murmured,

"Happy birthday."

"Thank you." He started to move his hips, slowly and steadily at first, and then he touched his forehead to hers and insisted, "I don't feel seventy years old."

"Should have just put… mmmph… twenty-four candles," she laughed. "You could have blown them all out then."

"No. I've lived seventy years," he said. "Some of them… were alone in a forest without a body, but… it doesn't matter now. I've got you now. I'm going to… I'm going to…"

"You're going to rule this entire country," Bellatrix nodded, but Voldemort choked out,

"I was going to say, _I'm going to come_."

"Oh." She giggled softly and raked her fingernails gently up his back, which did him in entirely. He burrowed himself to the hilt inside of her and felt everything contract and tighten. His come filled her in aggressive bursts, and his head was warm and light for a few moments. He put his lips beside Bellatrix's ear, and some force compelled him to inform her,

"I love you."

"Oh." She sounded almost disbelieving, almost shocked in that one syllable, but she whispered back, "I love you, too, Master."

He snatched the empty plate and spoon as he rolled off of her, and he put them on the table beside the bed. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling for a moment as he pondered,

"This has already been, by far, the best birthday that I've ever had."

Bellatrix laughed and informed him, "It's not even eight in the morning, My Lord."

"Well. We can just pack it all in and move on, then." He turned his face to her and said more seriously, "Thank you."

"My pleasure." She dragged a rogue wave of his hair from his forehead, and she asked, "Shall we wash up and get dressed and spend a few hours practising Occlumency, Master?"

"That would probably be the responsible thing to do," he nodded. He sat slowly and declared, "I've got dibs on the shower. It's my birthday."

 **Author's Note: Okay. Do I have hypergraphia? Yes. Have I written four chapters in one day? Yes. Is my husband confiscating the computer and making me go to bed? Yes. I am aware that I've updated so quickly that I now have multiple chapters with quite literally zero reviews (yay). I do apologize for the craaaaaazy updates all in one day and I appreciate you guys reading through it all. I promise not to be so whackadoodle with updates over the next few days, but these chapters were just burning a hole in my skull! Love to all!**


	42. Chapter 42

"So. Occlumency is complicated, as we've established."

Bellatrix looked up from where she sat in the office to see Voldemort leaning back against his desk, his arms folded over his chest. He looked like the teacher he'd wanted to be, and she smiled a little at him. But he was very serious as he said,

"I've decided that today you'll be focusing on giving me blankness in reaction to a specific stimulus. A word, a name, a place that I know will trigger a very emotional response. If you were being interrogated under Veritaserum or by a Legilimens, these names and places would give you away at once. So… what I shall do is simply say something, and I want you to do get to that vast emptiness as quickly as you possibly can. Understood?"

Bellatrix frowned. "I think so, Master."

He nodded. " _Legilimens._ Rodolphus Lestrange."

Bellatrix scowled. She instantly thought of the wizard who had touched her face and made her recoil in 1996, the one she'd duelled on the lawn of Malfoy Manor, the one who had asked her to his birthday party in 1970. She tried to shove all of that away, and she imagined an endless, orange desert - a place with no water and no life, a windy expanse of heat, a parched and sorrowful nothing.

Voldemort tipped his head, and she felt him pull out of her mind. "You got there," he said. "You got to that nothing. That was well done. Is that really all you have of him?"

He smirked a little, and Bellatrix shrugged. "I was never his wife."

Voldemort scoffed and stared at his shoes. He shook his head a little and murmured, "Walking with his your hand in his, laughing with him, wearing his rings on your finger…"

"No, I don't remember any of that, because I never lived it," Bellatrix said very firmly. Voldemort smiled just a little, as if that thought made him oddly happy. He flicked his eyes up to hers, and he whispered,

" _Legilimens…_ The day you got your Dark Mark."

Bellatrix grinned, unable or unwilling to fight off the memory that came to her mind. She recalled kneeling before him, her left arm in his hands, his wand pressed to her skin, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.

"Get to the empty place," Voldemort snarled, and Bellatrix ripped herself away from the pleasantness. Vast orange nothingness. Hot, dry, starving, silent. She got there and gulped, and Voldemort nodded. "That was quicker, and on a memory you wanted to relive. Good. _Legilimens._ The time I first kissed you in 1996."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, and her mind flashed with the image of his grey face. But she knew that was dangerous, so she put up a giant wall of blank, great nonbeing, and she shoved the idea of the kiss far, far away. Voldemort smirked and stepped toward her chair. He was still inside her mind, and he whispered,

"When I put my mouth between your legs in the flat in Knockturn Alley."

This time, Bellatrix didn't even let an image of the memory come up. It was like there was an enormous steel wall between her mind and his, and he seemed elated by that. He reached for her hands and pulled her up to stand, and he bent down to put his lips against hers. He murmured,

"Sucking my cock after I killed Albus Dumbledore."

"No," she whispered, and she gave him nothing. She didn't even let herself see. Her mind was a void, a black starry sky, frigid and endless and cloudless. Finally, she felt Voldemort slide out of her mind, and he nodded. He took her face in his hands, and he said softly,

"Good, good girl. That was so well done. Really."

"Have I made you proud, Master?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Hmm. Yes. Very proud."

She brushed up against him a little and frowned, confused by the way he was hard in his trousers. She furrowed her brow up at him, and he licked his lip as he said self-consciously,

"I got excited by what you could do. That's all."

She laughed a bit and shook her head. "Shall I do what I did after you killed Dumbledore?"

Voldemort raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "I wouldn't say no. Particularly as it's still my birthday."

He did seem surprised, however, when Bellatrix followed through on her word and sank down onto her knees, reaching into his robes and swiftly unbuttoning his trousers. Whether he was turning twenty-four or seventy today, she meant to make it good for him.

* * *

"My Lord!" Abraxas Malfoy called over the Amplified swing music, "I think our wives are already hopelessly drunk."

"I think you're right," Voldemort nodded. "They appear to have retreated to the furniture."

He laughed as he pointed to the sofa where Adalie Malfoy and Bellatrix were having a blurry but animated conversation. In another corner of the lounge, Druella Black was hanging off of Cygnus, and Yaxley stood talking with Rookwood, the two of them without dates but deep in discussion over some Ministry matter or another. Voldemort sipped firewhisky from the Ever Cool tumbler Bellatrix had bought him for Christmas, and he thought distantly at how it really did help keep the drink pleasantly cold.

She was swigging down Lavender Slip-Ups, as she was wont to do. Suddenly she staggered to her feet and started to make her way over toward her parents, and Voldemort's eyes went wide. He set down his drink on a low table and rushed over to intercept her. He snatched her arms and swept her into a swing dancing stance. When it was clear that she didn't know much about swing dancing, he pulled her close and just rocked back and forth with her.

"I quite like your dress," he said loudly, unwilling to fight with her about confronting her parents.

"You do?" she sounded emotional about that. "I put on five different ones before I decided to wear this one! I couldn't decide!"

Voldemort looked down at the sleeveless, knee-length, black raw silk confection of a dress she'd chosen, unsure of why it would have presented such a conundrum. She had pearls on tonight, so he feigned offence as he said,

"You're not wearing my clock necklace."

"I'm so sorry!" She sounded horrified, so he laughed and insisted,

"I was only joking."

"Oh." She nodded then and asked, "How much longer till midnight?"

"Eight minutes," Voldemort said patiently. "They just said that on the Wireless."

"Oh. I was talking with Adalie," Bellatrix told him, stumbling in their rocking step. "She likes Lavender Slip-Ups, too! Soon she won't be able to drink them, because they're going to try for a baby! She wants a baby! She wants to be pregnant soon. I won't tell her that she'll have to wait four years for Lucius."

"Ah. Yes. Best let her find that out on her own." Voldemort tipped his head and smiled as he shook his head. "You are so drunk."

"Sorry. It is New Year's Eve," Bellatrix laughed. "I don't want a baby. Ever."

He smiled. "You don't have to worry about that any time soon. Or ever. Whatever you want."

"Well, it's just… I'm nineteen, and you're _seventy_ , and -"

"Bella." Voldemort squeezed hard at her waist to snap her to rights. She blinked a few times and glanced over her shoulder, and her face was stony as she stared up at Voldemort. "Those are my parents over there. Do you see how my mother is drinking Gillywater?"

Voldemort sighed. "They've only been married for two weeks."

"I was born in September, Master," Bellatrix nodded. "Do you realise how disgusting it is for me to be standing in the same room as them right now?"

"They're leaving," Voldemort pointed out. "Early night, it would seem."

"Yes, well. Pregnant women tire easily," Bellatrix hissed, watching Cygnus and Druella apologise to Malfoy. She whined a little and said helplessly, "I'm in her uterus."

"Stop that." Voldemort dragged his thumb over hers and bent to plant a swift kiss on her lips, which seemed to surprise her enough to jolt her out of her misery.

" _All right! There are only four minutes until midnight, so get yourself a kissing partner quickly! One last tune here, all!_ " The chipper voice on the Wireless faded away as another dancing piece started up, and Malfoy shouted,

"Right - Rookwood and Yaxley have to kiss at midnight!"

Voldemort laughed, and Bellatrix mumbled,

"I need one more drink before the new year."

"Do you really?" Voldemort asked sceptically. He let her go and watched her stumble away toward the sofa, where Adalie Malfoy looked like she was on the verge of passing out. Bellatrix guzzled down a Lavender Slip-Up so quickly Voldemort was sure she'd be sick. Then she appeared to be helping Adalie up, but both witches stumbled and fell. They were both laughing uproariously as Malfoy and Voldemort rushed over to aid their wives.

"Completely smashed. Inexcusably drunk, the both of you," Voldemort scolded good-naturedly, and Adalie said in an accented slur,

"Ze gin ees just flowing tonight. What can we say? 'Appy New Year. Right, Bella? Hahaha!"

"Good gracious, Adalie." Malfoy grinned and hauled his wife off, and Voldemort managed to yank Bellatrix up into his arms. She giggled and said,

"Your birthday's almost over."

"It really has been unlike any other, thanks to you," he told her. Her eyes were glassy as she shrugged and told him,

"I have no idea why I fell asleep in my childhood bedroom and woke up in Azkaban, Master. But it is the very best thing that has ever, ever happened to me."

" _Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six!_ "

"I am in love with you, Bellatrix," he told her, taking her face in his hands. She nodded vehemently and insisted,

"I will serve you forever, Master."

" _Five! Four! Three! Two! One!_ "

"Happy New Year," he murmured, and he touched his lips to hers, so gently that he would have looked for all the world like a man who had lost himself to the woman in his arms. He didn't care. She was his. He was hers. Here and in every time. And he would rule this entire country, with her by his side.

 **Author's Note: If I was smart, I'd end the story here. But I am just so addicted to this particular dynamic, where he knows everything and can start over from the beginning… so I'm not going to stop here. I'm going to plow on, whether people are with me or not! Mwah hahaha. Fair warning - there will be a nine month time jump before the next chapter. *rubs hands together maliciously***


	43. Chapter 43

**September, 1951**

"Babies," Lord Voldemort said quietly. "Babies, babies, babies."

Bellatrix smirked where she sat at the meeting table. Others laughed a little, too, and Voldemort gave a melodramatic, wistful sort of sigh.

"It is indeed a baby boom," he noted, "which is a good thing for the Pureblood community. Lestrange… Merry is due with your second in December, yes?"

"She is, My Lord," Rudy Lestrange smiled. Bellatrix's stomach churned a little, and she shut her eyes when Voldemort asked smoothly,

"Have you a name?"

"Rodolphus, Master," Rudy Lestrange said happily. "The Healer just confirmed last week that it's to be another boy."

"Very good," Voldemort said with a weak little smile. Bellatrix knew what he was thinking. The boy that would be born in a few months had been, in Voldemort's first existence, the wizard who had stolen Bellatrix away. Or, at least, that was the way Voldemort's memory had painted it all. He'd married her off, of course, but it felt like she'd been stolen. That was Bellatrix's understanding.

"And as for you," Voldemort said, turning his attention to Cygnus Black III, "Your wife's due to burst any day now, isn't she?"

"Yes, My Lord," Cygnus grinned. "We think we're going to call the little girl Ursula."

Bellatrix choked a little where she sat, and everyone's eyes turned to her. She glared at Cygnus and shook her head.

"Ursula? No. That's hideous."

"Bella," Voldemort said in a soft, warning voice. Cygnus Black was wide-eyed, and he shrugged.

"We're certainly open to suggestions, My Lady."

Bellatrix sighed. "How about Juno?"

"Juno?" Cygnus sounded pleasantly surprised. "Juno. Yes, I quite like that. I think Druella will, too."

"An exciting name for an exciting baby!" Bellatrix said with a grin. Beside her, Voldemort rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Cygnus Black asked,

"M-My Lord. My Lady. Druella and I were wondering if you would be good enough to consider… if you might think about… erm… being the godparents to little… well, to little Juno."

"Godparents." Bellatrix's lips went dry. She was to be her own godmother now? She just blinked a few times, but Voldemort swooped in and rescued her.

"It's a marvelous idea," he said smoothly. "In fact, I like the idea of being godparents to the babies born to all Death Eaters. So, Lestrange, you'd best let Merry know."

"Yes, Master," said Lestrange with a grin. Voldemort curled his lips and nodded.

"A new protocol, then. Now, if we can kindly move the conversation away from infants. Yaxley. You have a thrilling little dossier for us, don't you?"

"I do, Master," the pale-faced Yaxley said with a smile. He set down a file on the table. "Mary McAuliffe, from Wexford in Ireland. She's a newly-trained Auror from a blood traitor family. Old Irish Purebloods, but, much like the Weasleys here in England, they're poor as dirt and have no respect for purity."

A hiss went round the table, and Yaxley waited before he continued,

"Mary McAuliffe was a Gryffindor. Just completed Auror training. She gave an interview to the _Prophet_ last week; Mulciber was good enough to get me the unfiltered transcript. McAuliffe says it's her mission as an Auror to 'sniff out extremists who want to see so-called purity of blood in the wizarding community.' She wants to hunt us down."

Bellatrix felt her heart race, and she planted her hands flat on the table. "Master. Please let me kill her."

Voldemort tipped his head and raised his brows. "Ordinarily, I would, but you'll be busy over the next few weeks," he said simply. He turned his eyes down the table as Bellatrix slunk back in disappointment. "Avery. Nott. Goyle. Fancy a trip to Ireland?"

Avery laughed, a low rumble from his wide chest, and he said, "Ireland's green and lovely, except when it's on fire. She live in a nice incendiary sort of cottage, My Lord?"

"I want her executed cleanly and Vanished," Voldemort said, his voice strict. "This is a disappearance. A mystery. Can you handle it?"

"Yes, My Lord," Nott affirmed. Voldemort narrowed his eyes and said,

"Goyle, you stay here. Avery and Nott can do it. Too many cooks and all that."

"All right, My Lord," Goyle said. Voldemort sighed and put his hands up.

"Well. That's that. Anything else? Dismissed."

As the room cleared out, Bellatrix drummed her fingers on the table. She waited until she was very sure they were alone, and she asked,

"Why can't I go to Ireland?"

"You're being surly," he countered, and she felt her cheeks go hot. She was about to apologise, but Voldemort told her softly, "Adalie Malfoy's a complete mess. She needs you here. I need you to be here for her, because when Adalie Malfoy's a mess, Abraxas Malfoy's a mess, and he's my right-hand man."

Bellatrix sighed. Adalie Malfoy had miscarried twice in nine months, and, of course, as far as Bellatrix knew, things weren't going to go well in terms of procreation for at least another few years. The first time these years had happened, Voldemort had not yet gathered his Death Eaters together. Adalie Malfoy hadn't been forced to hear about two Lestrange children born in two years, or Druella Black conceiving within a month of her wedding. Bellatrix often heard Adalie crying. She often saw her alone in a room, halfway through a bottle of wine or buried in a book with her face red and swollen. For his part, Abraxas was tense and anxious, and that wasn't helping Lord Voldemort's cause.

"How am I meant to help Adalie?" Bellatrix demanded, and Voldemort licked his bottom lip.

"Druella Black's going to give birth any day now."

"To _me_ ," Bellatrix drawled, and Voldemort shook his head. He folded his hands on the table and said in a voice little more than a whisper,

"What I am about to say will likely disgust you, but… so be it. You - _you_ \- were created when one specific sperm from Cygnus Black met an egg inside Druella Black."

"I know how it works, Master," Bellatrix sneered, but Voldemort continued,

"Enough changed prior to the winter of 1950 this time round that you have no guarantee it happened in _exactly_ the same way. Perhaps they undressed ten minutes later, or perhaps Cygnus' body temperature was a little different. In any case, each one of those little, tiny, minuscule sperm makes a completely different human being, and there are millions of them each time that a man -"

"Yes, I _know_ ," Bellatrix snapped. "I understand. They're having a child at the same time, but in all likelihood, it isn't exactly me. I know that you believe that the 1996 and the 1970 we left behind don't exist anymore, that the 1970s where I married Rodolphus don't exist. Or, that they exist somewhere else. I know that you believe that the straight line we live now is separate from the memories we have. I know that."

"So this baby… Juno," Voldemort said, "is not you. I don't want you to think of her as you. All right?"

"All right," Bellatrix agreed, and there was silence in the meeting room for a few long moments. Finally, Voldemort said,

"In any case, that baby is going to be born any day now. And Adalie's going to go to pieces. You've never had close friends, I know. But I need you to find a way to help her stay distracted. Even if it means… even if…"

His cheeks went a little pink then, and Bellatrix frowned.

"Even if it means what, My Lord?" She stood from her chair and walked over toward him, and Voldemort reached into the chest pocket of his robes. He pulled out a small vial of purple liquid, and Bellatrix breathed,

"Felicity."

"Happy early birthday to you," Voldemort mumbled. He raised his dark eyes to her and said, "I think it's best if Adalie uses a few potions in the days after little baby Juno is born. You can supervise. You can participate every now and then, if you must. Just keep Adalie from hucking herself off the roof of this manor, all right?"

Bellatrix sighed. "Right. So… some Felicity. Draught of Peace the day of, I suppose. A bit of drinking. Some Elixir to Induce Euphoria. This feels wrong."

"What would be wrong would be letting my second lieutenant's wife dissolve into a completely dysfunctional puddle because another witch's uterus works better than hers does," Voldemort snarled, and Bellatrix was surprised by how angry he seemed. She nodded and tucked the Felicity away. She tried to lighten the mood by leaning back against the table a little and pushing a wavy lock of his hair from his face.

"What if I take a few drops of Felicity and show up in your office, Master?"

He smirked and shook his head. "Save it for nighttime, when I can attend to you properly. Better yet, save it for your actual birthday, so I can give you a few… gifts."

"Eugh. My birthday. I don't want to think about it." Bellatrix curled her lip up, but Voldemort reached for her hand and scowled in confusion. He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

"Twenty. A nice round number."

"Twenty." Bellatrix shook her head. "Goodbye, sweet youth."

Voldemort laughed at her then, his head flinging back. He laughed so hard that his face went red, and finally he kissed her fingers again and murmured,

"Oh, you poor, sweet, innocent creature. Have you no notion of how happy I am that your age will no longer begin with the number _one_? That you won't be a damned _teenager_ anymore? Most of the years I spent with you, Bella, you were in your twenties. You were meant to be forty-five when you were freed from Azkaban."

"But we're both young here," Bellatrix protested, and he scoffed.

"No," he said firmly. "No. I've lived seventy years. Almost seventy-one. And you, very thankfully, will soon enough not be a teenager. You've no notion of how hard I struggled with the age difference the first time round, when it was only twenty-five years. Age and appearance has never been an easy matter between you and I, Bellatrix. You've been fortunate. You've always been beautiful. Very beautiful."

She froze then, for the look in his black eyes was very sincere. It had been a year now since she'd seen the scarlet blaze of the eyes that had looked out from his grey face with its flat nose. Some tiny part of her almost missed that frightening figure. But he was so handsome here, with his sharp cheekbones and his thick hair and his glittering eyes.

"So, the Felicity will have me clawing desperately for you on my birthday, then," she said, for everything had grown almost uncomfortably tense. Voldemort rolled his eyes and reminded her,

"It's all meant to keep Adalie from unraveling. I'm relying on you, Bellatrix. If I could have, I'd have sent you to Ireland. As it is, I'm just hoping Nott and Avery don't botch the job. I need you to protect Adalie, because if she's lost, then I've lost Abraxas, and I can't have that. Understood?"

Bellatrix nodded firmly. "Understood, Master."

 **Author's Note: Woo! Time jump! Foreboding! More Felicity! Yeahhhh! Haha. Thanks so much for the positive feedback about continuing this story. I really do love working in this story sandbox, so I'm staying put for a while!**


	44. Chapter 44

"Well? How's she feeling?" Voldemort waited in the corridor as Bellatrix pulled the door shut on the suite Adalie shared with Abraxas.

"She's resting. Abraxas is with her now. She's been dosed with some more Draught of Peace," Bellatrix said. "She'll be all right, Master."

"Well," Voldemort said as they started to walk down the corridor and past the curious-looking portraits, "I've just come from St Mungo's. The baby's healthy."

"Little Juno?" Bellatrix asked hesitantly. Voldemort waited until they reached their own suite at the top of the stairs. He opened the door, let Bellatrix in, shut the door, and murmured gently,

"She's blonde."

Bellatrix's eyes went wide. In the glow of the sconces on the wall, her silence was almost deafening. Voldemort nodded and repeated,

"Wispy blonde hair. She isn't you. Everyone knew that little Bellatrix Black had kinky black curls the day she was born."

"She isn't me," Bellatrix mumbled, leaning heavily on the back of the armchair. Voldemort approached her and reached for her shoulder.

"I told you," he said, "that enough things had changed. That things had shifted."

"I don't exist here," Bellatrix breathed. Voldemort tipped his head.

"Don't be stupid. Of course you exist here; I'm looking right at you."

Bellatrix went pale. "But I -"

"It's not linear. I told you. It's not linear," Voldemort snapped. Bellatrix shut her eyes and looked dizzy.

"Right. So… little Juno. She's my sister. Sort of."

"Sort of," Voldemort nodded. "Bellatrix, you need to calm down. You look like you're going to faint."

"I'm overwhelmed," Bellatrix said weakly. She slumped a little, and Voldemort scooped her up as quickly as he could. He slid an arm beneath her legs and put another behind her back. She started to breathe quickly in his arms, and as he walked through the sitting room, she began to say frantically, "I don't exist. I don't exist. It was so very trying, having to comfort Adalie, not being able to tell her what I knew about Lucius, about her son marrying Narcissa. About the way I knew her as a middle-aged woman. I couldn't tell her anything."

"Calm down, Bellatrix; you're panicking." Voldemort carried her into the bedroom and smoothly kicked off his shoes. He set her down on their bed, and he gently pulled off the boots that he'd given her the Christmas before. She burrowed her fists into her eyes and began to hyperventilate a little.

"Adalie knows _nothing_ , and I know _everything._ Or I thought I did. Only maybe I don't know anything, either, because that baby, Juno, is not me. So I'm not here. But I am."

"You're not making sense." Voldemort stripped off his outer robe and loosened his tie, and then he slowly made his way up onto the bed. He opened his mouth to put her to sleep, but Bellatrix sobbed woefully,

"I don't even know anymore if I'm real."

"You are being ridiculous!" Voldemort snarled, and then he froze. He'd said those words to her before, once upon a memory. He'd said those words to her in the dining room of Malfoy Manor, the night before he'd forced her to marry Rodolphus Lestrange, just before he'd left her crying on the ground.

" _Accio_ Draught of Peace." Voldemort aimed his wand out of the bedroom door, but Bellatrix huffed with shallow breaths as she insisted,

"N-No, Master; I used all of the stuff in the manor on Adalie. She was so incredibly jealous, so distraught. Grieving. She was… sh-she was having an emotional meltdown when she heard… when she heard that my mother had had a healthy baby girl."

" _You're_ having an emotional meltdown," Voldemort growled. He wrenched open the drawer beside him and pulled out the little phial of translucent purple liquid. He stared at the Felicity for a very long moment and finally decided that it was worth her being a little silly and a little aroused in order to ultimately calm her down. She seemed, at long last, to be calibrating just what it meant to be permanently existing in this time, and her mind was not taking it well. He was abruptly far less concerned about Adalie Malfoy than he was about Bellatrix. If she snapped and started blabbing, even to the portraits, they were in deep trouble. One night's silliness to reframe her sanity was a small price to pay.

"Here," he said softly. "Happy birthday."

"Wh-What?" Bellatrix shook her head where she lay against the pillows. "No, Master; I think that's a very bad -"

"I am not asking your permission," he said tightly. "Do as I say. Open your mouth."

She did, finally, though her lips shook like mad and she looked like she was going to be sick. Voldemort put two drops on her tongue, deciding to err on the side of too much indulgence tonight. He screwed the lid on the jar and tucked it back into the drawer beside the bed, and then he folded his hands in his lap and waited for Bellatrix to settle down.

It didn't take long. Within thirty seconds, she was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling, writhing a little and laughing quietly. She paused, reached her fingers toward Voldemort's thigh, and said,

"I think I was born today in some sideways somewhere."

"Sideways somewhere," Voldemort repeated, smiling a little. He nodded. "I quite like that. Let's use that. Our memories are real in some sideways somewhere."

Bellatrix giggled a little, but then her laughter slowly died and she said, "Poor Adalie. She thinks that next month, she'll be pregnant and it'll stick and she'll have a baby."

"Maybe she will," Voldemort said. "After all, that baby in St Mungo's tonight was not you."

"Tell me more about her," Bellatrix begged in a voice full of wonder. When she stared up at Voldemort, her pupils were dilated, and her head lolled a little. "Tell me about little baby Juno. My goddaughter."

"Goddaughter," Voldemort nodded firmly. "That's right. Well. I didn't spend much time with her. Didn't hold her; didn't want to. She did what newborns do. She squirmed. She lay peacefully in a wrapped-up blanket. And then she shrieked bloody murder for milk. I left at that point. Cygnus said something about Druella's sisters having blonde hair, so…"

"Yes; my aunts were blonde when I knew them. All the Rosiers were except for my mother," Bellatrix nodded. "Andromeda and I looked like our mother, but Cissy looked like the rest of the Rosiers. I dunno, really, how much any of us looked like our father. I think Andromeda and our cousin Sirius sort of looked alike. For what that's worth."

"Not much anymore," Voldemort said, and Bellatrix nodded peacefully.

"But they have called her Juno?" she asked, and he smirked.

"Juno Ursula Black," he said, and she laughed rather maniacally. She burrowed her face up against Voldemort's thigh, and he shivered a little at the feeling. Her hand drifted, seemingly on instinct, to the buttons of his trousers, and he was amazed by how deftly she managed to unbutton them one-handed.

"Is there something you want, My Lady?" he asked, teasing her, and she murmured seriously,

"Your cock, Master."

He choked out a little laugh then, and then he was sucking in air hard as she used her hand to pull him out with one hand and shove his trousers down with the other. Suddenly, her hand tightened on him a little, and her eyes fluttered shut where she lay on her stomach. Her breath hitched, and her left hand cinched hard on his trouser leg. Voldemort was confused, and a little concerned, and he snared his fingers into Bellatrix's curls at pulled her face back a little.

"Are you all right?"

She moaned, and suddenly he realised what was happening. She was coming, right there, with her hand around him, having not really been properly stimulated in any way. He stared in open-mouthed shock at the spectacle, throbbing in her hand as his body registered what was happening. She recovered enough to move up closer to him and start licking at his shaft, and he gasped, tightening his fingers in her hair.

"Bella…" His voice cracked a little as she dropped her face down over his tip. He grunted when his tip hit her soft palate, making her gag just a little. She adjusted the way she was kneeling, and then she really went to work. She plunged her head up and down vigorously, suckling hard at him every now and then. One of her hands started to play between his legs, massaging the insides of his thighs, carefully fondling his orbs, and it was all entirely too much.

"Damn it all, Bella. You'd best decide _very_ quickly whether or not you mean to… to… taste it. Oh." Voldemort wrenched his eyes shut and was shocked when Bellatrix pulled her mouth off him with a little _pop_ and insisted,

"I want to taste every drop of it, My Lord."

"Oh, bloody hell." He buried both his hands in her curls then and watched her descend as low as she could onto him. His back arched against his will then, and his come shot up into her mouth in eager jets. He felt warm and pleasant, then hot and buzzing for a moment. He caught his breath as the throbbing slowed, and Bellatrix giggled like mad as she pulled off of him. He reached with a shaking hand for a wand and nonverbally Scoured her mouth, and he commanded her,

"Get up here and kiss me, you wicked thing."

"Yes, Master." She seemed delighted at the prospect. She tasted clean, like black tea and peppermint, and suddenly Voldemort remembered being his grey-faced self in 1996, kissing her after trying to convince himself not to, after twenty years of not doing so. He groaned now into her mouth, and she wrenched away and gasped.

"What's the matter?" he asked, but she tipped her head back and shoved her hand beneath her skirt where she knelt. Her breasts heaved beneath her black blouse, and even in the dim light of the lanterns, Voldemort could see that her skin had flushed dark red. She was coming again, he realised. It seemed to go on forever, an impossibly long and drawn-out climax, until she finally whispered,

"I'm so th-thirsty…"

" _Crystallum… Aguamenti…_ " He Conjured her a glass and used a Water-Making Charm then, and he waited until she finally panted and shut her eyes, letting her curls fall in front of her face as she leaned heavily against him. She was utterly spent, he knew. He silently handed her the water, and she guzzled it all down before whispering,

"Thank you."

He filled it with water twice more, and she drank it all. She was dehydrated from the Felicity, it seemed. Voldemort drank a little water himself before setting the Conjured glass down on the bedside table. He was completely silent as he helped Bellatrix strip off her blouse and skirt, her knickers and bra. He Banished them to the wardrobe and Summoned her fresh knickers and a nightgown, and once they were on, he tucked her beneath the blankets and began to stroke at her hair.

"I don't suppose you and I will ever celebrate our birthdays publicly," he said. "Just the same, I'd meant to make yours more special."

"No," she whispered, her eyes shut. "I am happy. Here. In this time. With you. Not in the sideways somewhere. Here, I am happy."

Voldemort curled up half his mouth. "I ought to have sent you to Ireland. Nott and Avery went to the wrong bloody house. They have to try again tomorrow."

"The wrong house?" Bellatrix looked up at him with bleary eyes. "How did they go to the wrong house?"

Voldemort shrugged. "Walked straight into some place with two elderly Muggles watching a television. They had the good sense to just Obliviate them; probably knew they'd make a right mess doing anything else."

"Good gracious. It really isn't that difficult to just make someone disappear." Bellatrix huffed a little laugh, but Voldemort said seriously,

"I shall never, ever have another soldier anything like you. And in that sideways somewhere, they dragged you away kicking and screaming that I'd rise again, when nearly everyone else had abandoned me. You, Bellatrix, are my constant through time and space. Do you know that? The prophecy you delivered to me is true, even here. I know it. My success relies on you being at my side. And I mean to cherish you as I ought to. So I should like to take the opportunity now, whilst you are calm and satisfied, to wish you a very happy twentieth birthday, because you deserve it so very much."

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh. I love you, Master."

He bent and brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone and kissed her lips carefully.

"Black tea and peppermint. Just like always. Just like everywhere. Happy birthday, Bellatrix."

 **Author's Note: Way to go, Nott and Avery, right? But at least Voldemort handled Bellatrix's (probably totally legit at this point) panic attack skillfully. Buuuuuut, as always, a sappy chapter ending usually means stuff's going to hit the fan soon, so don't get too comfortable. :}**


	45. Chapter 45

Voldemort stabbed at his pork shoulder and shoved the forkful into his mouth. Bellatrix frowned and asked carefully,

"My Lord… are you all right?"

"Yes," he said sharply, but of course she didn't believe him. She just ate in silence for a few moments, until he shoved his plate away with a clatter, making her jolt in alarm. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the wall, and Bellatrix asked cautiously,

"Did Nott and Avery not make it back all right from Ireland, Master?"

"They did," he snapped. Bellatrix gulped. She picked up her red wine and sipped, and when she set her wine down, her main course had vanished and had been replaced by a fresh plate of honey and pine nut tart. When Voldemort didn't touch his, she realised something was very wrong. She sighed and noted,

"You and Abraxas had a meeting just before dinner. May I ask what it was about?"

Voldemort shook his head a little, but his eyes watered strangely. Bellatrix scowled and huffed out a breath, and she mumbled,

"I wish I were a Legilimens."

"I'm an Occlumens, too; I'd keep you out," he reminded her cruelly. He sniffed a little and finally met her eyes. He let out a very long sigh and said, "Fine. This doesn't exactly seem like the sort of argument that a wizard ought to keep from his wife, in any case."

"Argument?" Bellatrix was worried now. If Abraxas and Voldemort were arguing, that was bad. Very bad. She folded her hands neatly on the table and waited. Voldemort cleared his throat and shrugged.

"Abraxas thinks that perhaps it isn't Adalie. He thinks perhaps the reason she can't get or stay pregnant is him. Of course, you and I know that she'll carry a pregnancy to term with Lucius, or at least that she has the ability to do so. But I can't tell him that. So I had to nod and say, _Oh, yes, Abraxas. Perhaps it's you_."

"And the two of you argued over that?" Bellatrix asked with confusion, poking her spoon at her honey tart. She carved off a little and pulled it into her mouth, and she savoured the flavour of the sweet honey and the stiff nuts.

"Well," Voldemort said, ignoring his own dessert, "the argument began when Abraxas suggested a solution to this supposed medical deficiency. _You do like living in this manor, My Lord, don't you?_ That's what he asked."

"That sounds like a bit of a threat," Bellatrix pointed out, and Voldemort nodded.

"I don't have quite enough authority yet to just go evicting the owner of this manor, I'm afraid. I'm still a guest. So I told him that… yes. Of course I like staying here. Why, I asked? Well, he said, he thought perhaps I might do him a favour. Perhaps I might try… try putting a child in Adalie."

Bellatrix was silent. Her stomach hurt a little. She blinked a few times, her eyes burning. It made sense, of course. Purebloods were hopelessly fixated on rapid procreation, and Adalie Malfoy was miserably depressed about not being able to follow through on that. Abraxas was getting desperate, both about not producing an heir to the Malfoy fortune and name and about his dour wife. So Bellatrix understood the foundations of what would lead Abraxas Malfoy to request, somewhat in hysterics, that his master try to impregnate his wife.

But her stomach still ached, and her eyes still burned.

"He said they've tried every potion, that they've tried every spell," Voldemort murmured. "He begged me. Said that Adalie had already agreed, that she had consented to be fully Obliviated afterward so that she would think the child was Abraxas'."

Bellatrix set down her spoon, convinced she was going to vomit up her honey tart.

"C-Could I stay in the room with you, Master?" She asked meekly, and Voldemort's eyes went round as saucers. His mouth fell open, and Bellatrix suggested softly, "Perhaps we could use a different suite from our own, and I could get you… erm, you know… ready. And then you could just put it into her at the last moment. Just to minimise the intimacy involved."

"Wait. Wait. You don't think I actually, for even a half second, vaguely considered consenting to this ludicrous, amoral, treacherous, offensive request?" Voldemort snarled. Bellatrix blinked quickly, feeling a tear tumble out of her eye, and she shrugged.

"I suppose you must do what you will to ascend to power, My Lord."

"I will _not_ stick my cock into some random witch - a witch who is not _you_ \- and then have my bastard trotting around under someone else's name, just so that Abraxas Malfoy's pride is saved and Adalie Malfoy quits her damned crying!" Voldemort was standing now, shaking with rage, and his eyes flared with rage for so long that Bellatrix shrank back in fear. He shut his eyes and took a few breaths, and she felt his anger washing over her, throbbing and thudding through the room. His magic was crackling around the both of them. He was going to burst, she thought. She rose slowly from her chair, feeling thoroughly terrified.

"So you told him no," Bellatrix murmured, walking around the dining table, and Voldemort seethed, his eyes still shut where he stood. When he spoke, his voice was steady and lethally calm.

"I told him that if he and Adalie couldn't figure out how to fuck properly, that was scarcely my problem, and that there were specialised Healers for this sort of thing at the right price. I told him they could adopt if they wished, that Merry Lestrange seems quite capable of shitting out one Pureblood baby after another. I told him that if he ever suggested something so disgusting to me again, he'd see a flash of green and nothing else, his wife would get shipped back to France, and his manor would be renamed and become truly mine."

He opened his eyes then, and though they were dark again, they were frighteningly sharp. He scoffed roughly, taking Bellatrix's face in his hands, and he shook his head.

"What, you were going to suck on me until I was ready to plant my seed inside Adalie Malfoy where she waited on a bed with her legs spread? Is that really something you thought I'd do? Something you thought I'd make you do?"

Bellatrix shrugged helplessly. "I would do absolutely anything for you, Master," she insisted. "Here. In 1970. In 1996. In the sideways somewhere. In a room whilst Adalie Malfoy waited with her legs spread. I would do _anything_ in order to help you get the power you deserve."

"Well, I appreciate your limitless and unconditional loyalty, Bellatrix. Really and genuinely, I do. But knocking up Adalie Malfoy is not going to give me any power. Quite the opposite, I think. Anyway, I looked into Abraxas' mind. He'd missed a few fertility spells. I cast them on him nonverbally, even in my anger, before I threw him out of my office… almost physically."

He shut his eyes and bent to touch his lips to Bellatrix's mouth.

"I think we should go away for a while. Give them a little space. Give _me_ a little space away from Malfoy."

"All right," Bellatrix nodded. "Where are we going? Monte Carlo?"

He laughed quietly. "No. I still need to come here to work. We still need to be here for meetings. I think perhaps we might go to a spa resort in Bath. A Muggle place, in cognito. Close enough to Apparate back for work, but somewhere we can relax."

Bellatrix smiled up at him. "A spa. That sounds nice. Can I get a massage?"

"Yes." He nodded. "Yes, you can get a massage, after you've done something for me. That Irish wench, Mary McAuliffe? Her parents are throwing a fit, blabbing to the _Daily Prophet_ that it must've been 'Pureblood Extremists' that made their precious little girl disappear into the ether. They live in a row house in Wexford town these days. Take them out for me, and then you can have all the massages and mud masks and dips in thermal pools and other ridiculous spa treatments you want. And we'll get a little time away from this manor. All right?"

Bellatrix curled her lips up and nodded. "Yes, Master."

He shook his head a little and said disbelievingly, "I can not believe that you even sort of thought I would inseminate Adalie Malfoy with you in the room."

"I really hoped you wouldn't," Bellatrix insisted, "but it is as I say, My Lord. I would do anything you asked of me. Allow anything you required. Anything at all."

"I know." He nodded and kissed her forehead, twining his fingers through her curls as he said quietly, "These years are so much more pleasant this time round. With you. I was miserable last time, all alone, wandering the Continent, trying to learn how to be powerful."

"You are powerful," Bellatrix insisted. She reached up and placed her hands on his chest, and she smirked, "You are so powerful that Abraxas Malfoy wanted you to impregnate his wife."

He chuckled a little at that, and he shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Please, let's go away for a while," he insisted. "We have been languishing in this manor for months and months and months. Let's go away for a bit."

"Yes," she said. "After I kill the McAuliffes for you."

She leaned up on her toes and kissed his lips, and then she whispered,

"Now. Master. Take a moment and eat your honey tart, won't you?"

 **Author's Note: Oh, Abraxas. I know you're desperate, man, but what were you** _ **thinking**_ **, asking Voldemort to knock up your wife? Geez. So, we're going to see Bellatrix in her good old murdery action… and then some fun times at the spa! Yay! Nothing like Bellatrix and Voldemort at a spa, right? Nothing could go wrong. Right? Right?**


	46. Chapter 46

' _Do you honestly think you're the only witch who sleeps here?'_

 _Bellatrix's pretty lips parted where she stood in her nightgown. Voldemort laughed cruelly at her and stood, flicking his wand to neaten the blankets and then aiming his wand at the pillow where Bellatrix's beautiful curls had spent the night._

' _She's nearly as tall as me, the girl who was here the night before last,' Voldemort lied mockingly, moving to hover over Bellatrix. Her eyes welled, but she stayed steady as she stared up at him. Of course, he was inventing this witch in his head. He'd woken to find himself curled around Bellatrix, his fingers tangled with hers, his nose burrowed in her hair. She was getting so close these days. He couldn't let her feel special. So he shrugged and said off-handedly,_

' _She smells like roses. If the pillow smells of roses sometimes, that's probably why. Or it might smell like vanilla. One of the other girls smells of vanilla; I think it's the perfume she wears. I don't ask her many questions. We don't talk much.'_

' _I see.' Bellatrix quietly aimed her wand at herself and murmured a few Transfiguration spells until her nightgown became a simple, flowing dress. She Scoured her mouth out and Conjured a ribbon. She yanked her hair over one shoulder and tied the ribbon round her curls, and as she slid her feet into the boots Voldemort had given her, she said softly, 'I'll be at the meeting this afternoon, Master.'_

' _Yes, all right. Have a good day,' he said, and he watched her leave his suite without another word._

Voldemort blinked his eyes open from the awful dream. No, he thought then. It wasn't just a dream. It was a memory. He gulped hard and stared at the pillow beside him, the pillow where Bellatrix usually was. She'd gone off to Ireland, he knew, to take care of the McAuliffes. Voldemort let his eyes shut, still very tired, and when he drifted off to sleep again, he was dragged to yet another time when he'd been sending her away, a warm May morning when she'd been twenty-four and beautiful.

' _I need you to hurry up and go,' he lied. 'I've got someone coming over.'_

' _Oh. Of course, Master.' She flashed him a little smile, so very pretty, as she bent to zip up the boots he'd bought her. His chest yanked, and he blurted out,_

' _I'm having brunch with one of my other ones, you know. You take up so many of my dinners. She likes salmon quiche; I hope I remembered to tell Dobby to make it for her.'_

 _Bellatrix stood slowly and walked toward him, and a knowing little smile crossed her face. She shrugged a bit and asked,_

' _Do you tell them about my honey tart, My Lord? The other girls? Do you tell them that I taste like black tea and peppermint?'_

 _He didn't answer her, so she reached up and took his face in her hands, and she whispered carefully,_

' _You always take such care to give me details about them. The way they taste and smell. How tall they are. The things they like. What do you tell them about me?'_

' _Nothing,' he insisted. 'I don't talk much about you.'_

' _Good,' she said with a smirk. 'Good. I'd rather be thought of only as your soldier. May I please have a kiss goodbye?'_

' _Fine.' He bent and touched his lips to hers, and for some reason, the instant he did, he knew that she didn't believe him. She didn't believe that there were others. Perhaps she had at first, years earlier, but not anymore. She'd stopped believing, because he'd begun to be too earnest with his lies. He knew, somehow, that she was aware there was not going to be any salmon quiche. There was no one who smelled of roses or vanilla who shared her pillow, and she knew it. She knew she was his only one, and that was dangerous. That felt so very dangerous. Voldemort deepened his kiss, sweeping her up closer against him and moaning softly against her lips. He felt something serious for her these days, something terrible and beautiful, horrifying and medicinal._

' _Bella…' he whispered as she pulled away, and she nodded resolutely. She smiled sadly at him and said gently,_

' _Enjoy your brunch, My Lord.'_

 _An hour later, Lord Voldemort was in his office, scribbling a letter to Rodolphus Lestrange demanding a meeting. He had to marry Bellatrix off. Things were going much too far._

Voldemort opened his eyes again, this time gasping for air as he sat straight up. He panted hard as he grasped at the space beside him. The pillow was empty; Bellatrix was still gone. It was absolutely pouring outside. Dawn had broken, for what that was worth. It was dark grey outside, and the window was being thrashed by sheets of rain. Voldemort slid out of the bed and tried to steady his breath as he went into the bathroom. He relieved himself in the toilet and then cleaned his teeth, studying himself in the mirror for a long moment.

He was handsome here. He looked young. But it had been twenty-two years of his lived experience since he had really and truly shoved Bellatrix out of his life. That had been a terrible mistake. He'd splintered after that. He'd become paranoid; he would think that Yaxley or Malfoy were up to something just because he thought he'd heard them whispering. He'd had portraits destroyed because he thought they'd been spying for Dumbledore. He'd had books burned because he thought they contained insidious material. He'd executed Purebloods to set examples. He'd reacted terribly to the prophecy about Harry Potter, and he'd paid the ultimate price for it. Now he knew; having Bellatrix at his side was the key to his success. More than that, it was the key to his happiness.

He'd lived over twenty years of sheer misery because he hadn't allowed himself to love her. He'd been in love with her. He knew that now. But he had not allowed himself to actually _love_ her, so he'd been miserable.

He would not make that mistake again.

He went out to his wardrobe and quickly dressed in clothes for traveling. His hope was to get to Bath today, in spite of the rain. Their traveling clothes and toiletries had already been packed into Expanded leather suitcases that were waiting at the end of the bed. Voldemort pulled on fresh underwear and waterproofed grey wool trousers, then one of the crisp white dress shirts that Bellatrix had gifted him at Christmas. He smiled a little as he carefully knotted one of the black silk ties she'd given him. He pulled on a grey cashmere sleeveless jumper, and then he nearly pulled on an outer robe before remembering they'd be going to the Muggle world. He slid on black dress shoes and pulled on his Muggle-style suit coat, and he made his way out to the sitting room of the suite.

He stared out the window, or at least, he tried to stare out the window. Really, he was just staring at glass down which rain was endlessly pouring, obscuring his vision entirely. Suddenly, the suite door opened and shut quickly, and he whirled round to see Bellatrix standing before him, dripping wet, her curls plastered to her head, her black wool dress soaked through.

"Master," she breathed. She laughed a little as she walked slowly toward him. She giggled a little, looking euphoric. She twirled around in a circle, her wand in one hand as she extended her arms and whispered, "Master, Master, Master."

"Tell me," he laughed. "No. Show me."

"Mmm. Yes. But let me change clothes," she said. She dashed over toward the wardrobe, and she glanced over her shoulder. "Well. Go on, then. Look into my head!"

He smirked as she struggled to peel off her stubbornly wet dress, and he said, " _Legilimens._ "

He hit a solid wall of Occlumency the moment he went into her mind, and he raised his eyebrows, impressed. She didn't even have to try anymore. Her defences were automatic and thorough. He cleared his throat to get her attention as she Scoured, Dried, and Banished her dress to the wardrobe.

"I can't get into your head," he complained, and Bellatrix laughed, just a little maniacally.

"Oh. Right. Sorry!" She worked hard to get off her soaked bra and knickers, then her waterproofed boots, and suddenly she was completely naked before him. Ordinarily, Voldemort would become aroused by the sight of her without clothes, but somehow they'd reached the marital sort of mundanity surrounding nudity. He didn't mind, as it happened. He liked being comfortable in his nakedness around her. He liked that if he were fresh out of the shower with a toothbrush in his mouth, he was utterly unselfconscious. He liked that Bellatrix was wont to slip out of bed in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and then come sliding back in without thinking twice about it. He liked being comfortable with her. He did not, as he had feared the first time around, feel vulnerable or weak in that comfort.

" _Legilimens_ ," he murmured again, as Bellatrix began pulling on dry, fresh undergarments, along with a Muggle-style garter belt, petticoat, and black shirt dress. This time, he could see straight inside of her head.

He could see the way she walked confidently up to the townhouse where the McAuliffes lived, the way that she sensed wards around the doorway. She quickly dismantled them just like he'd taught her to do. She unlocked the door and moved with quiet efficiency through the house, taking the stairs two at a time. He could see her dash into the McAuliffes' bedroom and cast her Killing Curses so quickly that the room glowed green for ten solid seconds. She worked smoothly to Vanish the bodies, the wands. She even sorrowfully Obliviated the cat, whose rudimentary mind might give Aurors some hint of what had happened. It walked crookedly and didn't seem quite right afterward; Memory Charms weren't really meant for cats.

Bellatrix backed out the way she'd come, Scouring the carpet so that her footprints would be gone from the house. She'd been careful not even to touch the bannister, but just the same, she cleaned everything she could. Then she left the house and Summoned the door shut, locked it, and warded it back up even more tightly than when she'd come.

She'd become soaked walking through the gardens of Malfoy Manor up to the door, Voldemort could see now. It hadn't been raining in Wexford.

"Bella," he said softly, and he moved to stand behind her, doing up the zip of her Muggle-style dress. She glanced over her shoulder, pulling her damp curls into a braid, and she asked him seriously,

"Have I made you proud, Master?"

"You are," he pronounced, bending to kiss her exposed neck, "the very, very best soldier there ever was. So much better than Nott and Avery; for Merlin's sake… oh… Bella. I need you."

"No! We've just dressed. We're going to Bath," she giggled, and he growled in frustration. She was right, of course. They had a brunch scheduled at the Gainsborough at ten…

Brunch…

Suddenly he remembered taunting her with the spectre of non-existent competitors, of seizing on her insecurities. Bellatrix disliked how short she was, so the witch who had slept in the bed before her was tall. Bellatrix sometimes longed for silky, light hair, so his _other ones_ had long blonde tresses. But, of course, there never had been other ones. There had never been brunch, no salmon quiche. And eventually she'd known that.

"Master?"

His hands had frozen at the nape of her neck, where he'd done the hook and eye at the top of her zip. She slowly turned around, and she looked a little frightened as she stared up at him. He realised suddenly that she'd kept her clock pendant on whilst she'd changed, and his eyes watered terribly. Was he going to cry? Surely not.

"Are you angry with me?" Bellatrix asked tentatively, and Voldemort shook his head so hard he thought it might rip off his neck. He seized her face, and she yelped a little. He let up a bit and rubbed his thumbs beneath her eyes - beautiful, wide, deep brown eyes - and he told her,

"All those years, Bella, there was only you. In the darkness, in the emptiness, I longed for you. I cried out in silence for you. And when they broke you out of prison and brought you to me, young and new, I wanted you all over again. And I've been given the chance to live so many years now with you beside me, and I will. I'm going to. I love you."

"Are you all right?" Bellatrix asked, and he nodded.

"You did very well with the McAuliffes," he said firmly. "Very well. You are a very good soldier. You've earned a massage or two in Bath, eh? Let's go get brunch."

 **Author's Note: Soooo, Voldemort's definitely very human this time around, but sounds like he was a total jerk to Bellatrix last time. Maybe he's trying to make up for it, huh? Maybe he's starting to feel some specific guilt for that? Maybe he's going to do something special and romantic for her in Bath, huh? Huh? Huh? Yes, we'll be getting a super schmoozy romantic Bellamort break (complete with drawn-out lemon) before we dive back into the world of Ministry politics and battle scenes. I'm taking my time with this fic now, so the pacing's going to slow just a little. Hope that's okay!**


	47. Chapter 47

"Mmm. Everything looks good," Bellatrix smiled, setting down the menu. "I think I'll get the salmon quiche."

"Salmon quiche," Voldemort repeated, very quietly. He shut his own menu, looking quite serious, and Bellatrix frowned.

"Should I not?"

He shrugged. "Get whatever you like."

She sighed. "Well. I was also thinking of the mushroom omelette. Craving eggs for some reason… perhaps I just need some good protein after the early morning I had."

She gave him a cheeky smile then, and he reached across the table for her hand. He brushed his thumb over hers, and he nodded.

"I am proud of you," he told her, and she wondered suddenly why he was being so sombre. She shook her head and asked,

"Is everything all right… Tom?"

His throat bobbed, and he said in a little whisper, "I dreamed… of that sideways somewhere."

"Oh." She laced her fingers through his, and she was about to say something when the Muggle waitress came up to the table. Bellatrix released Voldemort's hand, and when the Muggle woman smiled down at her, Bellatrix said stiffly,

"I'd like the mushroom omelette. And a side of the brussels sprouts and bacon. Thanks."

"And for you, sir?" the woman asked, and Voldemort hesitated for half a second before he finally said,

"The aubergine and goat cheese omelette for me. With one extra egg."

"Very good. Can I get you anything to drink? A peach bellini, perhaps?" the waitress prompted, but Bellatrix said,

"I'm fine with orange juice."

"Water's fine," Voldemort assured her. The waitress took the menus and flounced off, and once she was gone, Bellatrix asked,

"What did you dream, Tom?" She had to call him that here, he'd said. It still sounded off in her mouth, like it was a name that had never really been his.

"I dreamed… I dreamed of mistreating you," he said. Bellatrix was surprised by that. She scoffed and shook her head.

"You never hit me, did you?"

"Hit you? No." He sipped from his water and shook his head. "No. Worse, perhaps. I've told you that I lied over and over again, that I made up girls who didn't exist. Told you how they smelled, what colour their hair was. I tried to make you jealous, just so that you wouldn't feel special. But after long enough, I told you too much. I was spilling my guts about these witches who weren't even real, and you could see straight through me. You knew they were excuses, creations of my desperate mind. You never called me out on it, not once. But you knew."

His eyes visibly watered then, and he blinked quickly. His breath was quick and shallow, and suddenly Bellatrix was absolutely terrified that her master was about to cry. But he didn't. He just whispered,

"I was madly in love with you, but I couldn't tell either of us that. So instead I told you and Rodolphus to marry each other, and I signed my own death warrant in doing so. I remember the morning after your wedding. I sobbed like a child. A child with a splitting headache and a diamond ring that I thought would go unworn forever."

Bellatrix glanced down to her left hand and sighed.

"I'm wearing it, Master," she reminded him. "I'm wearing the ring. I'm your wife. I'm Bella Riddle. Or The Dark Lady. Whatever you want them to call me. I'm yours. Forever."

"And I am _yours_ ," he said, almost aggressively. An older Muggle woman at a nearby table heard the growl in Voldemort's voice and turned, and Bellatrix gave Voldemort a serious look. He cleared his throat, reached for Bellatrix's hand, and assured her very gently, "I am in love with you."

"You always seem to tell me that when there's food involved," Bellatrix noted, for the waitress was coming at them with plates of omelettes. She winked and told him, "I'm very much looking forward to my massage and thermal dip and all that nonsense in the spa."

"Yes, well," he said as his aubergine omelette was placed before him, "you've more than earned it."

* * *

Even Muggles, as it turned out, could figure out how to pamper a person.

Bellatrix tried not to moan as the Muggle woman behind her rubbed pleasantly-scented mud onto her back. It was so very pleasant here, in this lavender-scented room with its rocky walls. There was silence except for the sound of a little waterfall in the next space over. Bellatrix let the woman rub the mud in with some pressure, and the woman asserted with some confidence,

"This mud will moisturise your skin and tighten it up, too."

That was rubbish, of course. Bellatrix knew of ten potions and three spells that would work far better than any slathered mud. But it smelled nice, and it felt nice, and of course she wasn't in a position to lecture the Muggle woman about Madam Bovina's Divine Moisture Cream, which retailed in Diagon Alley for four Galleons a jar.

"I'll let that sit for fifteen minutes, dear," the Muggle woman said, and Bellatrix grunted her assent. She was surprised to hear the woman say, "I think your husband's treatment's almost finished, and he's rented out the entire bath house for you. So, once I come rinse this off, you can go meet him in the thermal waters, all right?"

"Oh. Erm… all right." Bellatrix's mind started to race, but she smiled a little to herself. Of course Voldemort would not want to share the spa facilities with filthy Muggles. He wouldn't want to get into water with them. Of course not.

Bellatrix breathed in the scent of lavender for the next fifteen minutes, nearly drifting off to sleep a few times. She relived the day before in Ireland, her adventure killing the McAuliffes. Their disappearance would join that of their daughter as a _tragic mystery_ , as an unsolved shock of terror that would ripple through the wizarding world. Bellatrix looked forward to the headlines.

They did need this time away from Adalie and Abraxas Malfoy, she thought. It had been absolutely ludicrous of Abraxas to suggest that Voldemort impregnate Adalie. It wasn't entirely unexpected, given the thought process of so many Purebloods, but it was rather revolting, and it was certainly distressing. Suddenly, Bellatrix had a mental image of standing and watching Voldemort pumping his hips a few times into Adalie, then Obliviating her so that she thought that the act had been completed by Abraxas. It all nauseated Bellatrix, and by the time the Muggle woman came back, she wasn't very relaxed anymore.

The Muggle woman used sponges to scrub the mud off of Bellatrix's back, and when she asked, "How's it feel?" Bellatrix lied,

"Feels great."

"Right. Your husband's out in the main square. You have to wear your bathing costume, even though it's been rented private. Just our policy, I'm afraid."

"Not a problem," Bellatrix said. She waited for the Muggle woman to leave the treatment room, and she pulled on her one-piece, black swimsuit, which had a flouncy little skirt for decoration. She had her curls up in a bun above her head to keep them out of the way, and as she padded barefoot out toward the main spring, she wondered if she smelled like mud, if she had smears of brown left on her.

She froze under an archway, for in the centre of the tranquil turquoise spring, her husband was bobbing around, looking utterly at peace. He turned slowly and saw her, and he smiled a bit.

"It's quite warm," he said, his voice echoing a bit off the tiled walls. "I can see why the Romans liked it here."

Bellatrix laughed softly. She made her way toward the steps and slowly stepped into the water, hissing a bit.

"It's hot," she complained, but she walked in anyway. It was, in fact, pleasantly on the line between warm and hot, like a perfect, oversized bath that smelled of minerals. She bounced off one foot, propelling herself through the water with a tiny splash, and Voldemort did the same to move toward her. He caught her in his arms, and on instinct, she snared her legs around him.

"I can't believe you let some filthy Muggle massage you," she whispered, and he scoffed.

"I didn't," he said. "I got a steam room treatment. Entirely hands-off."

"Oh. I was surprised when the Muggle lady said you were being touched," she joked. She put her hands on his cheeks and asked him, "am I too dirty to touch you?"

"No," he murmured, and she pressed,

"Even though I've just had mud slathered all over me?"

"They can clean the mud off you," he reminded her. "And you've still got magic in your veins, to the marrow of your bones. Haven't you?"

"Hmm. I'm not very good at wandless magic. Perhaps you can teach me." Bellatrix pulled her legs off of him and stood. The water came to her neck, which was annoying, since it only came to the bottom of Voldemort's chest. She was so damned short, she thought distantly. He smirked down at her and touched his fingers to the water. After a moment, ripples began to undulate from where his fingers were, and soon enough, there were veritable waves flowing through the warm spring. The once-calm pool was behaving like a small ocean. Bellatrix laughed at his wandless magic, and she waited for the water to go still. She knew the basics of wandless magic, but she'd always lacked the concentration. She touched her fingers to the water, shut her eyes, concentrated as hard as she could, and thought, _FLUCTO!_

She opened her eyes, and a miniature tsunami, perhaps three inches high, edged lazily toward the blue tile wall. When it hit the wall, the wave collapsed and died, and Bellatrix frowned. Voldemort snorted a laugh but insisted,

"That wasn't too bad."

"But you did much better," she complained, and he reminded her,

"I've got more than fifty years of practise on you. We'll work on it. At home. We're here to relax, remember?"

"Yes." Bellatrix grinned, and he tipped his head as he teased her lightheartedly,

"You're standing on your tiptoes."

"Well, I'm short and it's deep," she complained. He smiled and offered,

"Shall I help you?"

"How?" Bellatrix smiled. He crouched down a little and encouraged her to wrap her legs and arms around him, latching onto him tightly. The warm water felt so good all of a sudden. He backed up a little until they hit a wall, and Bellatrix found herself panting as her eyes met Voldemort's.

"I don't think they want us having sex in here," she mused, far more to herself than to him, but he smirked and shrugged.

"I've rented the place," he said, "and, frankly, I couldn't give less of a care what they want us to do in here."

Bellatrix dipped her hands into the hot water and then put them into his hair, letting the water drip over his face a little. He tipped his face back a bit, and she studied the manly shape of his neck and throat, the place where his collarbone gave way to the sparse hair on his chest. He slid over until he found the bench that had been carved into the side of the spring, and Bellatrix found herself straddling him. His swimming trunks were even smaller than his normal underwear, she thought, and through her own swimming costume, she could feel plainly that he'd gone hard.

"Forget about what _they_ want us to do in here," Voldemort whispered, his hand reaching beneath the water and pushing aside the crotch of Bellatrix's swimsuit. He pushed two fingers up into her, making her gasp, and his bottom lip shook a little. "What do _you_ want, Bellatrix? Tell me. Tell me what you want."

"I want you, Master," she whispered, unable to call him anything else just now. His dark eyes found hers, and she watched his slim throat bob heavily. She was dizzy all of a sudden, from the sulphurous, steamy water and from him, and she edge his face aside with hers. She kissed at his neck, lathing her tongue over his skin and tasting the minerals from the water. His breath quickened beside her ear, and his fingers twisted inside of her.

"I want to be… I need to be…" he sounded a little unhinged then, and Bellatrix ground down hard against him as she murmured against his neck,

"Inside of me?"

"Yes." He was breathless, and when she pulled back, his cheeks were so red that she worried he might faint. She kissed him, harder than she'd done in a long while. She dragged her tongue over the roof of his mouth and suckled hard on his tongue, and she nibbled at his bottom lip as he groaned against her. She reached between them, and with one hand, she flicked fingers and her thumb at a hard nipple. He seemed to like that; she rarely played with his nipples, and he apparently appreciated the attention. She kissed him through the acceleration of his breath, through the way his chest began to tighten and heave. She used her other hand to reach into his swimming trunks and pull out his cock, and she dragged her thumb around his tip as she moaned rather wantonly into his mouth.

"Just putting some fresh towels over here!" called a very deliberate voice, and Bellatrix recoiled so quickly from Voldemort that she splashed very ungracefully in the hot mineral water. She gasped as she whirled around to see a haughty-looking Muggle woman placing a stack of towels atop a steel cart. She smiled and tipped her head up and asked,

"Anything else I can get for you? There's fresh lemonade. Please do be sure to exit the spring every twenty minutes to avoid overheating."

"N-No. We're fine. Yes. Twenty minutes. Right. Thanks." Bellatrix felt like she'd be sick as the Muggle woman left. From behind her, she heard Voldemort mumble,

"Damned filthy fucking…"

She turned to him, though, and she couldn't help but laugh. She shrugged and insisted,

"Oh, Master. You poor man. I'll take care of you later."

He glanced down and scowled. "Yes; it's rather ruined now, I'm afraid."

"Well." Bellatrix looked up to where the Muggle woman had been. She giggled and pointed to the cart and said with feigned cheerfulness, "There's fresh lemonade."

Voldemort rolled his eyes and shook his head with a smirk. "All right. It's probably been twenty minutes, anyway."

 **Author's Note: Voldemort, cock blocked by the Muggles! Damned Muggles! LOL! All right, all right. Enough spa fun times… it's high time these two receive a problematic owl, don't you think? Hmm…**


	48. Chapter 48

"We smell like eggs."

"Perhaps that's why I was craving them earlier," Bellatrix laughed as Voldemort watched her walk out of the bathroom, ensconced in a white terry cloth robe. "This whole place smells a bit of sulphur."

"Come here and let me take that robe off of you," Voldemort snarled playfully. He had one of his own on, and as he approached Bellatrix, he had one thing on his mind - finishing what he started in the spring.

But then there was a rapping on the window of their suite, and he scowled as he turned to see an owl hovering outside the hotel window. He huffed a breath and demanded,

"Is there some sort of law I don't know about? Some rule against a man penetrating his wife at this resort?"

Bellatrix laughed softly as she dashed over to the window and opened it. The owl came tottering in, and when Bellatrix untied the scroll on its leg, it hopped over to the windowsill and waited. So it wanted a response, then. Voldemort frowned and sat at the little desk near the window, and he snapped the switch to turn on the electric lamp there.

He broke the red Ministry seal on the scroll, and he didn't mind that Bellatrix was standing behind him as he unfurled it and began reading.

 _Dear Mr Riddle,_

 _Yesterday, I was informed of the sudden death of Mr Justus Pilliwickle, who had served as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for many years. He was, as you know, quite aged. As part of the reshuffling of Ministry personnel, I moved Mortimer Crouch, head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement._

 _I am aware that you were brought in for questioning after the death of Albus Dumbledore, and I am aware that you were cleared. For that questioning, you have my personal apology. I have been assured by many wizards - including Armando Dippet and Horace Slughorn - that you are a wizard of inimitable skill, immense charm and charisma, and enviable intelligence._

 _That is why I would like to offer you the position of Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Should your wife be amenable to working as your personal assistant, I would be open to the arrangement, seeing as the Head of International Magical Cooperation does frequently travel for work. Mr Crouch's wife served for the last decade as his assistant and will be moving with him to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement._

 _You come highly recommended by many Ministry employees, including Corban Yaxley and his father, as well as Augustus Rookwood. Nexus Malfoy sent an owl from Switzerland upon Mr Pilliwickle's death recommending you to a lofty position, as well. Coupled with the praise from Messrs. Slughorn and Dippet, I feel I would be remiss not to place you in a position where your storied interpersonal skills would be put to good use._

 _Please do respond and let me know if you will accept the position and if your wife will be joining you as a personal assistant. If you will be taking the position, please report to the Ministry on Monday morning at eight; everything will be ready and waiting for you in your office._

 _Compensation for this position is two thousand Galleons per annum for the Head of the Department of International Cooperation and eight hundred Galleons per annum for the position of the assistant._

 _Thank you kindly for your forgiveness and for your consideration of the post._

 _Yours,_

 _Wilhelmina Tuft_

 _Minister for Magic_

Voldemort set the letter down, feeling a little dizzy. He felt Bellatrix's hands on his shoulders, and she asked softly,

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. He leaned his head into his hands and mused, "I wasn't given this opportunity before. I hadn't gathered my Death Eaters; I didn't have working knowledge of the Dark Arts. Working at the Ministry would have been a dead end before."

"But this time," Bellatrix said from behind him, "You can clamor up through the Ministry, placing your spies throughout it, holding meetings of your secret society as Lord Voldemort, having your minions plant the seeds of your mission…"

"And then dismantle the entire system from the inside," he nodded, "instead of attacking it from the outside." He turned and looked up at her over his shoulder. "It just might work better. For Tom Riddle, charming diplomat, to persuade the global wizarding community that he's the man to lead wizarding Britain. For Tom Riddle to win over every Ministry employee, every journalist… to have a growing, secret army of Death Eaters who know him as _My Lord_ , who cower in fear of what he can do."

"Then when the timing's right," Bellatrix said, sounding a little breathless, "You'll snatch it all, and no one will even fight back. They'll hand it to you. They'll beg you to take it. Put you on a throne and hold a coronation for you."

Voldemort smirked a little and shrugged. "Make me a king? And will you be my queen?"

She laughed a little. "I don't know much about queens, Master."

"You'll have to stop calling me that if I'm to be the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation," he pointed out. "If you're going to be my assistant, you'll have to call me Tom."

"Am I going to be your assistant?" she asked, and he raised his eyebrows.

"We could use the extra eight hundred Galleons a year if we want to buy our own place. I should like to get out of Malfoy Manor. He _did_ ask me to fuck his wife. If I'm going to stay friends with the man… probably best we find a flat for a while. I'm going to start taxing the Death Eaters, and we'll use that money to get somewhere more grand."

"A palace?" Bellatrix teased, but Voldemort nodded.

"You think I deserve anything less?"

She shook her head. "I think you deserve everything… Tom."

"Well. A pretty little place in Belgravia in London wouldn't come amiss for now. Besides, if I have to go to Paris for some meeting on the circumference of broomstick shafts used in international sales, then I want you with me."

She giggled and then feigned seriousness as she nodded. "Yes. I'll take very good notes in meetings on broomstick shaft thickness."

He reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear.

"I think this is my path this time," he said. "Climb up the inside and seize things that way. I was not given this opportunity last time round. It wouldn't have led to power for me to take this position, but this time… this time, this feels like a gate's been opened."

"Then, by all means, Master," Bellatrix said, using the honorific very deliberately, "you must seize the chance that has been afforded you. Climb up their ladder. Then take their ladder from them."

He nodded, reaching for the blank pad of paper and the Muggle pen that had been laid out on the desk. He felt like an idiot writing to the Minister of Magic on stark white paper with a Bic fountain pen, but he didn't have much of a choice.

 _Dear Madam Minister,_

 _It would be my honour to accept the position of Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. It would also be…_

* * *

"So, whilst this particular unit is visible to Muggles from the street, it would never occur to them to enquire about it," said Betty Abbott, the kindly middle-aged witch who worked as a real estate agent in Diagon Alley. She stood now in a spacious one-bedroom flat in Cadogan Place in Belgravia, and Voldemort and Bellatrix followed her into the airy sitting-room.

"I quite like the moulding round the ceiling." Bellatrix pointed up, and Voldemort smiled a little. She seemed happy here, in their own place that wasn't a rotting, cramped hovel in Knockturn Alley or a borrowed suite in someone else's manor. Bellatrix sat down on the stylish sofa, dark turquoise, and she asked, "It comes fully furnished?"

"It does, Madam Riddle, yes."

"Kitchen's nice," Voldemort said, sticking his hands into his trouser pockets as he wandered into the galley-style space. It had oak cabinetry and some sort of marble or stone countertop. He didn't much care about the furnishings. He remembered, distantly, that the kitchens in Wool's Orphanage had been like a factory, a place where five women at once would work to churn out massive pots of watery soup or huge trays with ten loaves of bread on them. This place seemed cosy and warm.

"We'll need to procure a House-Elf," Voldemort mumbled, but Bellatrix insisted,

"I can cook."

He frowned. "We'll discuss it privately."

There was a little silence then, until Mrs Abbott took Bellatrix to see the bathroom, which apparently had a 'marvelous' clawfoot tub and a 'very nice' standing tile shower. Voldemort wandered on his own into the bedroom to find a bright white space, a bed with wispy white curtains, and suddenly he was glad this was not Malfoy Manor.

He had so many memories of Bellatrix there, in Malfoy Manor. So many memories of her in the dining room, in the suite. In the shower, in the sitting-room, in the library. Thoughts of her crying, laughing, running, moaning. He needed a new space for her, especially given that he was new. His body was new, at least in the context of being with her. His path was new. Climbing up through the Ministry and then claiming it from the inside out, armed with all the knowledge he needed? That was new. They needed their own space, a bright, airy white space just like this one.

"Oh, this is lovely," he heard a voice say behind him. He turned to see Bellatrix smiling as she came walking into the room. She looked down and said, "I like the grey floors. Nice and bright."

"So we'll take it, I gather?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix grinned.

"Yes. We'll take it."

"I shall set up deposits with Gringotts, Mrs Abbott," Voldemort nodded. "You work directly with the leasing agency?"

"Yes, Mr Riddle. If the first month's payment is received by tomorrow, you can be in on Monday," Mrs Abbott said. "I'll leave you two to just look around for another moment whilst I go draw up the paperwork for you to sign."

She stepped out of the room, and once she was gone, Voldemort nodded and threaded his fingers through Bellatrix's curls.

"You're going to need some of that paperwork I made for you," he whispered. "The Muggle birth documents, at least. Working with Gringotts. Working for the Ministry. You may not have had a formal education, but you had to have been born."

"And if someone wants to check with a wizarding government about my supposed American magical ancestry?" Bellatrix whispered nervously. Voldemort smirked and shrugged.

"Your husband is the new Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Don't you think that ensuring your security moving forward is very high on my new list of priorities?"

She said nothing to that. She just looked very worried. But Voldemort kissed her forehead and assured her,

"I will take care of it. I promise you. You like the new flat?"

"Yes," she whispered, still sounding a little anxious. "I like the new flat, Tom,"

 **Author's Note: Oh, my. So, he's going to ascend from the inside and then conquer instead of trying to attack from the outside. But what does he mean about assuring a story for Bellatrix? Hmm...**


	49. Chapter 49

"These are the files of the last ten years," Mrs Crouch was saying, gesturing to a wall full of cupboards. "Most of it is mundane correspondence… a letter to the Italians about importing Affable Aranciata, establishing the caffeine content of Whip-It-Up Coffee from Ghana. Things like that. Some are more serious, like discussing the effects of the Muggle war on wizarding communities. The effects, of course, were many and thorough. And, of course, there are currency conversion issues and things like that. Letters in the wake of the fall of important figures like Grindelwald, the death of Dumbledore."

"I see." Bellatrix nodded, feeling slightly overwhelmed where she stood in her new office. She gestured to the shiny black door on the wall and asked, "That leads to the Department Head's office?"

"Yes," said Mrs Crouch, who was tall and broad and not at all attractive in her middle age. She sniffed a little and joked, "I always left it open after… well, you know."

Bellatrix blinked. She did not know. Mrs Crouch's mouth fell open, and she scoffed.

"You're probably the only one working in this Ministry who _doesn't_ know. Hmm. There was rather a scandal a decade ago. Mortimer had an affair with his assistant, so I replaced her."

"Oh." Bellatrix wasn't sure how to respond to that. _I'm sorry_ seemed off, for some reason, so instead so said, "Well, good for you."

Mrs Crouch laughed a little and nodded. She looked distantly sad, as though she were remembering something painful, as she came over to the stout black desk and gestured to a slick-looking black-and-silver device on it.

"We use quality long-distance owls for countries on the Continent," she said, "but for anything in Africa, Asia, or North and South America, we use this International Communicator. It's limited to Ministerial uses, since it's an adaptation of Muggle technology - highly frowned upon in wizarding society, obviously - and very expensive to maintain. Each country's Ministry has one device, usually in their counterpart to your office. Their code is found in this book here."

She pulled a leather-bound book from the top drawer of the desk and opened it.

"So, let's say we wanted to communicate with MACUSA in America. We'd punch in the code 0027 and press the SPEAK button. Wait a few seconds, then speak clearly into this receiver here."

Bellatrix watched her mime as though she were talking into a cone-shaped piece of Bakelite that led into the lacquered wooden base of the machine. Bellatrix nodded, and Mrs Crouch said,

"On the other end, your message will be transcribed, and it will be printed out in their language. So, if you're sending a message to Japan, they'll receive a written message in Japanese."

"I don't suppose Muggles have anything like this."

"It's an improvement, not a derivation," Mrs Crouch smirked. "You'll receive written messages every now and then, and when you do, be sure to take them straight to your husband. They'll be considered confidential, urgent communication, just like anything received by owl or post."

"Right. Any how often does travel happen?" Bellatrix asked. Mrs Crouch shrugged.

"Two years ago we had to go to Israel to help establish relations, since their Ministry was brand-new. That was a long trip, almost a month. That was by far the most major international journey we ever undertook. Last year, Mortimer went to Norway for two days to discuss a tourism Portkey service, and I stayed home as I had a minor illness. After the defeat of Grindelwald, and to celebrate the end of the Muggle war, there was a great gala here, and of course, many international dignitaries came. Mortimer was heavily involved in the planning and implementation of that. But the day-to-day is mundane."

"Broomstick circumference in international sales," Bellatrix joked, and Mrs Crouch chuckled.

"Something like that. Have you any other questions?"

"No, I don't think so. I believe I know where to find you if I do," Bellatrix said, and Mrs Crouch grinned.

"You'll do just fine, dear. Get yourself settled in. Best of luck."

* * *

Four days later, the little bell on Bellatrix's International Communicator chimed, and she frowned a little as a message began to print out on the roll of parchment that she'd dutifully fed into the device.

 _From: MACUSA To: Br. Ministry of Magic_

 _Information on Nightjar received and filed accordingly._

 _All windows have been sealed for winter._

 _Many thanks._

Bellatrix frowned as the message stopped printing, and she tore off the parchment. She stood from her chair and rose, opening the door that led from her office into Voldemort's. She found him reading a magazine, and when he looked up, he said rather jovially,

"Trying to re-familiarise myself with professional Quidditch during these years. First time round, I confess that I paid absolutely no attention to the Chudley Cannons, nor the Quidditch World Cup. But it would seem that at least a rudimentary understanding of the current state of sport is beneficial in doing this job properly."

"I see." Bellatrix shifted on her feet, suddenly wondering if she looked silly in the gauzy black robes that she'd hoped had made her look professional. Voldemort frowned and set the magazine down.

"Is that from the Communicator?"

"It's come from MACUSA." Bellatrix approached his desk and held out the parchment. She said almost accusingly. "It's in code. Nightjar? Windows sealed for winter?"

"Yes, it is in code," he said, a bit defensively. He stood and went to a cupboard behind his desk. He Vanished the communication with his wand and then murmured a few spells to open the cupboard drawer. He pulled out a file and shut the drawer, warding it back up again. He looked up at Bellatrix and said, "Some friends have to stay secret. As it happens, my direct counterpart in MACUSA was particularly enthusiastic about Grindelwald. Abraxas Malfoy got in touch with him and explained about Lord Voldemort. This wizard, a man called Anthony Moreno, would like to work _very_ closely with me. I wrote to him in secret, explaining that I needed a solid dossier on my wife. I didn't give him reasons why you didn't have a background. I just said we needed to make one. He obliged. Malfoy assures me that this wizard is very, very dedicated to our type of cause. But just to be certain, I've been generous. With Malfoy's money."

"That would be the windows sealed for winter?" Bellatrix asked. "He's received your… gift?"

"Some loyalty can be bought, but the best loyalty is merely enhanced with coin," Voldemort said. "I mean to make a close ally of this Anthony Moreno. We have a dossier on you, on file at MACUSA and here, so that no one can question you now or in the future. Here it is."

He opened the file and held up one sheet of paper.

"Bella Townsend, born twenty-first September, 1930 in a Muggle hospital. Owing to your parents' flouting of Rappaport's Law, your birth was filed only with the Muggle government. Moreno has ensured that the Muggle office in Brooklyn has a copy of this certificate. You were raised on-and-off in England and New York by a Half-Blood couple fleeing Rappaport's Law and then enjoying the permissiveness of wizarding Britain. Lacking documentation, you couldn't attend Hogwarts or Ilvermorny. You were trained in witchcraft at home; your parents were killed in a Muggle car crash in 1945, in the middle of the chaos of the end of the Second World War and Grindelwald's demise. I have Muggle death certificates, on file in Queens in New York. You took a steamship to London in 1947 and bounced around doing odd jobs before meeting me in Knockturn Alley. We were married in a private ceremony in Monte Carlo."

He quietly put the papers back into the file folder and shut it, and he shrugged. Bellatrix admitted,

"That's very thoroughly done. I don't think it could have possibly been done any better. And you trust this Anthony Moreno?"

"I would like to trust him more," Voldemort said carefully. "I've invited him to London. Since I'm so new to the job, I said, I should stay here. I've asked him to come and meet with us, sit down and give a good explanation about how segregation of Muggles away from the wizarding community works in America. Malfoy's offered to host him."

"And do you suppose he'll be prejudiced against me?" Bellatrix asked.

"I mean to inform him that you are, in fact, a Pureblood," Voldemort said. "The more mystery, the better. He knows I am Lord Voldemort. I need allies who know the deepest secrets and are bound to keep them."

"Will you put the Dark Mark on him?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort scoffed.

"It's entirely too early to know that. He's a bachelor in his forties, a fat Italian-American who's brash and likes cigars, apparently. Malfoy's going to put him up and host a dinner party. We'll see what he's like. If I take to the man, and I get a good read on his mind, then I'll make him my spy and my ally in America, yes."

"When is he coming?" Bellatrix asked eagerly, and Voldemort replied,

"He boards a steamship in New York in ten days. This was his first test. He's passed. I'll need friends everywhere I can get them. This position isn't just an opportunity for me to climb within the Ministry. It's an opportunity for me to network all over the work. I don't just want a kingdom, Bellatrix. I want an empire."

Bellatrix curled her lips up. "Oh, I wish it weren't unprofessional for the Department Head to take his assistant on his desk."

He laughed, a low rumble, and eyed the furniture.

"This entire place is going to be mine," he said. "If I want to stain it with my seed, I will. But… I'm meant to have that insufferable bouncy young man in from Magical Games and Sports to complain about Australian broomstick stirrups, remember?"

"Oh, yes." Bellatrix laughed. "Well, you'll have to take me in our bed at home, then."

"Most assuredly," Voldemort said with a smirk, and there was a knock on his office door. Bellatrix cocked up an eyebrow.

"That'll be the fellow about the stirrups," she said, and she turned to open the door.

 **Author's Note: Ooh, a big loud Italian New Yorker who likes cigars and may become a Death Eater! But first… who's in the mood for Bellatrix and Voldemort deciding to explore some body parts that they haven't been brave enough to broach yet? Mwah hahaha…**


	50. Chapter 50

**Author's Note: This chapter is just one giant lemon that involves a bit of anal play, which I know isn't for everyone, so feel free to skip it if that's not your thing. Just a fair warning. :)**

Voldemort turned over the heavy metal object in his hand, the bullet-shaped object with its circular base. He'd bought it at a tiny shop in Knockturn Alley, a place with a door you had to knock on nine times in sets of three to gain admittance. Sex toys weren't outlawed, strictly speaking, but there was a stigma. Certainly, Voldemort had never bought one.

"Bellatrix," he said quietly as he walked into the bathroom, having peeled off his robe and tie and crisp white shirt after a day of work and a warm meal of potato and cheese soup at the Muggle restaurant down the road. Bellatrix had been humming inside the white tiled shower, but she stopped and asked,

"Yes, Master?"

He paused for a moment, breathing in the scent of her herbal shampoo and just clearing his throat a bit. He stared down at the weighty metal toy in in hand, turning it around, and he huffed out a rather nervous breath. Bellatrix finally pulled back the heavy white curtain on the shower a bit, and she appeared to have finished washing. She shut off the water, and Voldemort flicked his wand to sent a clean, fluffy white towel toward her. She dabbed at her curls a bit, and she curiously asked,

"What have you got there?"

"Well," he said carefully as she wrapped the towel round herself, "we are in a new home. New positions at the Ministry. I am in a new body, relatively speaking. In many ways, this life is entirely new."

"So you bought a… erm… trophy?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort smirked. He shook his head, feeling his cheeks go a little warm, and he said softly,

"I happen to know that there is one orifice in your body that's never properly been explored, Bellatrix. I thought that, perhaps, owing to the newness of so very much, that you and I might try something… new."

"Erm… what are you talking about, Master?" Bellatrix stepped out of the shower, looking very anxious. She approached Voldemort and peered into his hands. He held up the heavy white anal plug he'd purchased for her, one with a small circumference meant for beginners. He cleared his throat a little and informed her,

"In the 1970s that I lived, you quite liked toys like these. You liked them so much that I had quite a few made for our use."

"What?" Bellatrix's eyes went wide, and then she cackled out a little laugh. "No. I don't believe you. I let you stick this up my… inside my… no."

"Oh, yes, you did," Voldemort said with a smirk. He dragged her fingers over the shiny steel surface, and he heard her breath hitch a little. He murmured softly, "Loads and loads of lubrication from charms. I know how to go slowly - so, so slowly - so it doesn't hurt you. I know how to make you feel full, how make it feel good for you. And then I'll enter you from behind, and I'll touch you with my fingers, Bella, and I promise you that you'll go absolutely mad."

"Master." Bellatrix's fingers trembled on the toy, and her full lips parted a little as she raised her eyes to him. She looked a little drunk all of a sudden, as though his words had intoxicated her. Voldemort pulled a bit at her towel until it fell and pooled around her feet, leaving her naked, and he whispered,

"Merlin's beard, but you are beautiful, aren't you?"

He bent to kiss her then, cupping her breast in his left hand as he passed her the anal plug. He let her explore it in her own grasp, weighing it, feeling its curve and heft. He massaged her breast tissue with his fingers whilst he flicked at her nipple with his thumb, and inside her mouth, he made similar motions with his tongue. She hummed against him, her free hand making a desperate move for the placket of his trousers. His right hand went there to help her, and together they managed to unfasten the buttons and shove everything down. He wriggled out of the clothes, kicking them away, never breaking his kiss.

Once kis trousers were gone, he used both hands to explore the gentle curve of Bellatrix's waist, to squeeze and rub and scratch a bit at her backside. He caressed the little expanse of her back, pressed at her shoulder blades, and all the while, he kissed her like he needed it to breathe. Finally, he buried his left hand in her damp curls and pressed his right fingers between her legs, and when he felt that she was soaking wet there, he pulled his mouth from hers and mumbled,

"Your body is hungry."

"Yes, Master," she whispered, her fingers wrapping around the shaft of his rather insistent erection. "So is yours."

"I will be gentle," he promised, and he reached for the silvery, heavy plug in her hand. He took it and touched his forehead to hers. "I will take care of you."

"Yes, Master," she whispered again, and he threaded his fingers through hers as he led her out of the bathroom.

* * *

She must be mad, Bellatrix thought, letting him put something up _there_.

But as she lay on her stomach, knees bent, legs splayed, fully revealed to him, she felt very safe. She did not feel at all in danger as he carefully massaged the cheeks of her backside, as he murmured that she was beautiful, that she was clean and lovely and that he adored her with all that he was.

This was Lord Voldemort, who was gathering a secret army of Death Eaters. This was Tom Riddle, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. This was Lord Voldemort, who had already lived seventy years in various existences, whether as a wisp in a forest or as the ferocious enemy of Dumbledore. This was her husband, whose lithe and young-seeming fingers were touching that forbidden orifice on her body now as he incanted very meaningfully,

" _Lubrico Maxima… Lubrico Maxima._ "

It was slick then as he twisted one finger into her. Her body fought him hard, squeezing, resisting, but he whispered very softly,

"Relax, Bellatrix."

His second finger slid in far more easily, and as he scissored and stretched them, the heat between her ears started to give way to something deep and satisfying. She was only aware of when he pressed in the toy because it was cold - the metal was cold. But the stretching was very gradual, and his lubrication charm had been powerful. He moved so, so slowly, and Bellatrix's body seemed preternaturally at ease.

"Have you charmed… charmed me into a stupor?" Bellatrix asked, feeling very drowsy, and she heard Voldemort mumble,

"It'll wear off in a moment. It's just to help with the penetration. Trust me; you'll be glad I did."

"Oh. All right," Bellatrix sighed, and then she smiled, for the sensation of the toy buried inside her to its flared base was incredibly satisfying.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was beside her ear, and her mind was much clearer all of a sudden. She could feel everything sharply now - the metal plug inside of her, his erection pressed against the inside of her thigh, his breath on her neck, and it was all so much.

"I feel amazing," she said truthfully, turning her head a little. "Please kiss me."

"Mmph." Voldemort did, leaning forward a bit to touch his lips to hers. She'd recently taken a new dose of contraceptive potion, so she had no anxiety when she felt his tip touch at her entrance. She was drenched for him, and she whispered back against his lips,

"I want you inside of me, Master. Please."

"You'll have quite a lot inside of you then," he teased. "Are you sure you can handle that much?"

"Yes, please," she nodded with a little smile. She felt his hand course over her backside and touch at the metal base of the toy, and then graze over her entrance, and finally he pushed in. She arranged herself up onto her hands and knees, gasping and throwing her head back at the remarkable feeling of fullness. She was stuffed, completely stuffed, and he was buried to the hilt inside of her. He stayed like that for a long moment, seeming to enjoy the feel of it. When his fingers moved around her and flicked at her clit a bit, Bellatrix let her head fall, her curls tumbling down, and she mumbled something wordless and desperate.

"Are you still feeling all right?" Voldemort asked breathlessly, but all Bellatrix could do was nod. His fingers were flying against her, and she could hardly suck in air, much less form words. She appreciated him asking, just the same. His fingers pushed down, cinching her clit against the motion of his cock inside of her. She could feel him fluidly coursing in and out, and that suddenly did her in. That feeling on her nub, combined with the fullness in the new, daring place… it was so much. Too much. Just right.

"Master!" she shrieked, knowing that neighbours would hear and not caring one iota. "Oh! _Master!_ "

He choked a little laugh, but then he groaned rather loudly, and his hips went still. She could feel his cock pumping, could feel his body clenching in tandem with hers. They very rarely came at the same time; it seemed like a ludicrous thing to have happen. But it was happening now, both of them moaning and contracting together.

Bellatrix was very aware that her body was trying to expel the invasive toy, and, mercifully, Voldemort carefully and slowly removed it. She felt his seed leaking down her thigh, but it took a long moment before her lord and husband uttered and wandless spell to siphon it up. They both collapsed onto the bed, naked and panting and completely silent for ten solid minutes.

After a very long time, Bellatrix murmured,

"You were right, My Lord. That is… erm… enjoyable. Not for every single time, of course, but for occasional sorts of things it's… well, I quite liked it."

Half his mouth curled up, and he turned his head to her. "Yes, I had reason to believe you might."

She got serious then, and she asked him, "You lied to me in those years. You told me there were other girls. You didn't marry me. You didn't even tell me you loved me. But you used toys like those, and you put your face between my legs… was I just a sex object to you then, Master?"

"No," he answered immediately. He reached for her left hand, dragging his finger over the ring he'd kept hidden away for decades, and he said, "I make no excuse for the way I treated you the first time I knew you. I was too frightened to do differently, but I was awful just the same. I loved you, and so I ought to have told you so. I bought a ring for you, and I ought to have given it to you. You were never an object to me. You were so very much more, and I am immensely grateful to have been given the opportunity to demonstrate that to you."

Bellatrix sighed and whispered, "I love you."

"And I love you," he nodded. Then he let out a long sigh and rubbed at his eyes and said, "Early meeting tomorrow. That bloke from the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures claims someone's smuggled in three kappas in the last year from Japan. Wants me to contact the Japanese Ministry about it. Obviously, it's a matter for Law Enforcement… anyway."

"Oh. Thrilling," Bellatrix smiled. She pushed a lock of Voldemort's hair out of his eyes, and she nodded. "Climb their ladder, and then take their ladder from them."

"That's the plan," he said. "Let's get dressed and go get some ice cream or something. Fucking you makes me hungry."

 **Author's Note: Hey, you wanted a lemon, you got a lemon! Whew! Now, who wants Voldemort in his everyday functions as a Ministry employee? Haha! I promise we'll have a meeting our American visitor very soon.**


	51. Chapter 51

"Mr Dedworth, I understand that the kappas are dangerous," Voldemort said patiently. The impossibly tall, impossibly thin man with the neatly trimmed beard and mustache folded his hands in his lap and cleared his throat primly. When he spoke, Wilbur Dedworth's voice was weak and thin.

"The kappas were procured as _pets_ , Mr Riddle. They feed on human blood. All three were euthanised by the Committee, of course. All three found in possession of the creatures were fined and questioned. And they made it very plain that they procured the kappas as novelty 'pets' from a seller in Japan, a wizard named Hirotoshi Tanaka. According to all three British criminals, they sent money to Japan, and they met up with Mr Tanaka here in London. He smuggled the kappas in using an Expanded case and Muggle transport."

"Sounds as though he was rather inspired by good old Newt Scamander," Voldemort smirked. As far as he knew, Scamander was living in peace and quiet these days, but his methods and deeds had become legend and had spawned more than one imitator.

"Mr Riddle, this is quite serious," Wilbur Dedworth said impatiently, and Voldemort sighed.

"Of course it is, Mr Dedworth. But, if I understand correctly, then the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has already enforced British magical law against the British magical criminals. I'm not sure what more can be done."

"I would like you to send a message to the Japanese Ministry," Dedworth said very tightly. "Inform them that one of their citizens is smuggling kappas into Britain!"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr Dedworth, but I am not going to do that," Voldemort said very calmly. He flicked his eyes beside him, to where Bellatrix was sitting, scribbling some notes. She raised her eyebrows but kept her eyes down. He looked back at Dedworth, who was mildly apoplectic.

"And whyever not?" demanded the man.

"Because," Voldemort said patiently, "to do so would imply incompetence on the part of the Japanese Ministry's law enforcement arm - a very bad move in terms of international cooperation, which is my purview. Furthermore, it is not, strictly speaking, illegal to take a kappa out of Japan. So, whilst Mr Tanaka broke British magical law, he did not break Japanese magical law, so far as I know. I assume we have issued a warrant for Mr Tanaka's arrest in the case that he should enter Britain?"

"Well… yes, I believe so," Wilbur Dedworth's mustache twitched, and Voldemort threw up his hands.

"Then I'm afraid that's all that can be done," he said. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you in the specific way you wanted, Mr Dedworth, but protocol is protocol. Maintaining international diplomacy is paramount."

"Very well. Good day to you, sir." Dedworth stood slowly, nodding to Voldemort and then to Bellatrix. She rushed to show him out, first from Voldemort's office and then from the departmental office. Voldemort drummed his fingers on his desk and looked and his schedule. He had the head of the Department of Intoxicating Substances coming in next, probably straight away, for a meeting about the alcohol content of exported Butterbeer.

This position wasn't quite as dull as Voldemort had feared. If he was going to climb up the Ministry ladder, proving himself a competent department head was a good start. He felt strongly that he'd shown himself to be authoritative and correct with Wilbur Dedworth without making the other man completely angry. This was the way he would assert authority within the Ministry. He could do it again with the next meeting, with the next department head. Noam Wood, it said. The name sounded vaguely familiar, and suddenly Voldemort's stomach sank.

Noam Wood.

 _No, no, no,_ he thought rather desperately. _Not her. Why her?_ During his years at Hogwarts, when Tom Riddle had been a very handsome and sought-after young man, there had been one night, one singular night, where he'd allowed himself to sneak into the Potions classroom at two in the morning. He'd been Head Boy, and she'd been a fifth-year Slytherin Prefect - Noam Wood. She'd gone down on her knees for him, giggling and whispering that they'd get caught, and he'd smirked that he'd like to see someone walk in on them. She'd never undressed, and neither had he, but he'd finished all over her face.

And now Bellatrix was showing her into his office.

"Tom, this is your next appointment," Bellatrix said in a friendly voice, clearly having absolutely no idea of who the witch was that she was guiding into her lord and husband's presence. Voldemort cleared his throat and nodded. He thought about sending Bellatrix away, about having some sort of awkward conversation with Noam Wood about how things had changed, about how they both needed to forget that awkward night. But he studied Noam's auburn waves, her heart-shaped face, her freckles, her green eyes, and he thought that she was pretty, and then he looked at Bellatrix. His chest pulled and his stomach flopped. She was beautiful. She was _his_.

"Take notes, will you?" he asked, and Bellatrix sat beside him.

"Ms Wood and I attended Hogwarts together, so no introduction is necessary," he said tightly. "Ms Wood, this is my wife and assistant, Bella Riddle."

"Pleased to meet you," Bellatrix said, though suddenly her face bore a slight hint of suspicion. Noam Wood smiled rather crookedly, almost cruelly, and she seemed to be appraising Bellatrix. Voldemort slipped into Noam's mind. He couldn't help himself. He felt the thud of a thought from her, the pulse of an idea.

 _He settled for that? That bony, caterpillar-browed, frizzled-haired, miniature creature? Well, if that's what he wanted…_

"It's what I wanted," Voldemort said quite firmly, yanking himself from Noam's mind. Noam looked shocked and horrified, and Bellatrix looked a little amused. She cleared her throat softly as she touched her quill to her parchment notebook and looked up, feigning curiosity.

"You're here to discuss Butterbeer?" Voldemort folded his hands on his desk and kept his voice light. Noam's pale, freckled cheeks went scarlet, and she whispered,

"Yes, I'm here to discuss Butterbeer."

"What about Butterbeer?" Bellatrix asked earnestly, now fully in on the game. Voldemort sighed and shrugged.

"Yes, what about Butterbeer?"

"Well," Noam said cautiously, pulling out a leather folio and extracting a parchment with very shaky fingers, "We successfully export Butterbeer in large volumes to France, Belgium, Norway, Sweden, Spain, and Portugal. The Italian audience simply doesn't have a taste for the flavour. But polls in Germany have demonstrated that the main reason why Butterbeer doesn't do well there is that the alcohol content is insufficient. It doesn't neatly fit into any category. It isn't a purely non-alcoholic drink, nor does it intoxicate, nor does it have the flavour of hops like a true beer. The suggestion is to create a second tier of Butterbeer for the German audience with a higher alcohol content."

"How much higher?" Voldemort snapped, and Noam said meekly,

"Double."

"No," Voldemort said immediately. Noam scowled, but Voldemort sneered,

"Third-year Hogwarts students guzzle down Butterbeers in the Three Broomsticks on the regular. Do you honestly think that they won't also drink your new and improved German formula? Or will it somehow stay out of the hands of underaged people, or be very evidently a different product? Will selling Butterbeer to Germany benefit the macroeconomy of wizarding Britain sufficiently to offset the logistics of managing the legality of the new controlled substance? No. You haven't thought this through, Noam."

He used her first name on purpose then, tossing the parchment back across the desk at her, and he watched as she chewed her lip a little. She quietly tucked the parchment away and asked,

"What do you suggest?"

"Continue selling Butterbeer where it's doing well. Create a non-alcoholic version for sale here and in any country that wants it as a children's drink, including Germany, if they're interested. If they don't want the low-alcohol Butterbeer that exists, then don't sell it to them. It's quite simple. Do you need anything else, Noam? I have a very busy day ahead of me."

She looked very surprised at how he'd spoken to her, but she shook her head a little and tucked her folio into her leather briefcase. She stood from her chair and scoffed quietly.

"Always knew you'd get yourself into some position of power, Tom."

"Oh, you have no idea," Bellatrix whispered, and Voldemort smirked. Bellatrix plastered on a smile and said, "I'll show you out, Ms Wood."

 **Author's Note: Oh, Voldemort. Starting to assert his authority through a mundane Ministry position. Next up, we finally get to meet his American counterpart, Anthony Moreno. Friend or foe? Hmm…**

 **I know I'm updating fast and that the last chapter was super explicit, but I really didn't hear back on that one. If you are reading and enjoying the story and have a quick moment, I would really be so very grateful for any and all feedback. Thanks so very much!**


	52. Chapter 52

"Oh, hello, My Lord. Sorry I was gone so long. I wanted to be certain I had appropriate clothing for the meetings with Moreno tomorrow, and of course they had to hem everything, so… My Lord?"

He was sitting at the table in the little dining room that connected the galley kitchen to the sitting room, and he had his head in his hands. When Bellatrix came walking into the space, he messily flicked his wand to Banish the garment bag out of her hand into the bedroom, and she gasped a little as she smelled the powerful scent of firewhisky.

"You're drunk," she whispered, and he looked at her with blurry eyes.

"There are ghosts everywhere here," he said, and she blinked in confusion.

"Ghosts?" she repeated, approaching the table. "Remnants of your past, you mean."

He dragged his finger over the rim of his empty Ever Cool firewhisky tumbler, the one Bellatrix had bought him as a Christmas gift, and he was sloppy as he spilled liquor that he poured into it. He sipped, hissed at the burn, and said,

"I made up girls in that sideways somewhere."

Bellatrix studied him, his unbuttoned white dress shirt and the tie that was lying on the table. His robe had been tossed over the back of the chair. What had prompted this drinking session, she wondered? She frowned, and he said again,

"I invented competitors for you. I made up girls the first time I knew you, but this time they're real. I really did fuck them, and they really are here."

Bellatrix cleared her throat and reached for the tumbler, but Voldemort yanked it back, making it slosh liquor, and he growled,

"Do not steal my drink, you little child!"

Bellatrix felt a little wounded, but she took a half step back and said, "I think many people have to cope with the presence of… erm… ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends."

He laughed cruelly at her and reminded her, looking up with bleary black eyes, "All I did was fuck them. Well, except for the girls at the Lazy Unicorn. They just danced."

"I thought you said you'd never been in there," Bellatrix said quietly, and Voldemort shrugged.

"I lied."

He sipped hard at his firewhisky, and Bellatrix shut her eyes.

"You're going to pass out," she whispered, and he choked a laugh into his drink. His words were slurred as he nodded.

"Just like the night you married Rodolphus."

"I've never married him," she insisted, but Voldemort slammed his drink down and yelled,

"Yes, you bloody well did! Just like, fifty fucking years ago, I bloody well did _fuck_ Edna Flint! Just like I let a fifth-year, a fucking fifteen-year-old Noam Wood get down onto her knees in the Potions classroom, suckle on my cock just the same way you do, and rub my come all over her face! That happened almost fifty-five years ago for me, Bellatrix, and _five_ years ago for her! Right?"

Bellatrix felt sick. She reached again for the tumbler of firewhisky, desperate to make Voldemort stop drinking. He wrenched it so hard out of her hand that half the firewhisky sloshed onto his trouser leg, and he slugged down the rest of the liquor in the glass. Then he wandlessly, nonverbally Vanished the tumbler, and he mumbled,

"There. Now you can't steal it from me."

"Steal it?" Bellatrix asked, teary-eyed. "You've just Vanished… I gave that to you as a Christmas gift, Master."

"Oh. Well… you know, sorry," he said, though he didn't sound sorry at all. She stumbled back away from him, and he immediately snapped,

"Come here."

"No, thank you." She felt so nauseated that she nearly made a break for the toilet, feeling like she might really be sick. Voldemort narrowed his glassy eyes, ran his fingers through his messy hair, and heaved himself up to stand. His steps were a disaster, his lack of coordination almost frightening as he used the table as a crutch and limped toward Bellatrix.

"Ghosts," he said again, very hoarsely. "We're ghosts, too. Ghosts in my mind… a ghost of Rodolphus, a ghost of the you that _I_ know existed, the me that existed, the _us_ that existed. Ghosts of Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Ghosts here, real girls walking into my office, taunting me, taunting you…"

"The only one taunting me right now is you, My Lord," Bellatrix insisted, feeling shaky where she stood. "And you aren't just taunting me; you're frightening me. I want to take a shower and go to bed. We've got a meeting with Anthony Moreno tomorrow, and if we're to be in our best condition, then we should -"

"Get on your knees and suck my cock," Voldemort said, softly and gently. Bellatrix felt her mouth drop open. She shook her head a little, and then she did something she never would have imagined herself doing.

She defied him.

"No," she said. He got closer, and the reek of firewhisky was so strong that her head spun.

"I can't stop remembering stupid bloody Noam Wood," he said, as though she were meant to pity him about that. She shrugged and reminded him,

"Men usually have had several women by the time they reach seventy, I think. She thought you'd settled for me. She's pretty. Do you wish you'd married her instead?"

"No," Voldemort growled roughly. "No. I love _you_. This you. Not the ghost of you, not the you from the other place, from the sideways somewhere. I need to know that you love me."

"Of course I love you," Bellatrix nodded, feeling confused. "Of course I do. You know that, Master. You know it very well."

"Prove it," he slurred, and Bellatrix scoffed, defying him again with another shake of her head.

"No. I won't. Not tonight. You know that I love you."

She started to walk away toward the bathroom, but he grabbed her wrist, and when she whirled back, she said between clenched teeth,

"Let me go, Master."

"Prove it," he said again.

"Prove _what_?" Bellatrix demanded shrilly. "You are drunk! Beyond drunk! Raving about ghosts! Going on and on about some beautiful witch who sucked your cock walking into your office, as though you're a victim in that scenario! And I'm meant to prove something to you? Pardon me, My Lord, but I'm going to take a shower, go to bed, and prepare for the meeting tomorrow."

She pulled at her arm, and when he didn't release her, she snarled,

"Let me go."

"No," he said firmly, and finally Bellatrix snapped like a wire. She wound up, lunged toward him, and slapped him as hard as she possibly could. She slapped him so hard that the _crack_ resounded through the quiet flat. She slapped him so hard that both of them were silent in shock afterward. Her hand buzzed and then stung like mad from the impact. Voldemort's face rotated so quickly to the side that he stumbled and actually fell, landing awkwardly on his backside, touching at his left cheek and staring up at Bellatrix in complete disbelief.

"You've hit me," he whispered, and Bellatrix pulled out her wand on instinct. He was going to kill her, she thought. She aimed her wand at him, taking a step away, and she murmured quickly,

"I'm sorry, Master. Don't murder me."

"Murder you?" he repeated, shaking his head a little. He shut his eyes and whispered, "Please put your wand down."

Bellatrix hesitated, still unsure of how he'd react to being struck by her. After a very long moment, she lowered her wand and tucked it away, and she crouched down near him.

"If I had known when I was a stupid little boy that I was going to meet _you_ ," he said, his words still blurry from drink, "I would not have taken those girls at Hogwarts, nor gotten the few dances I did. If I had known that treating you poorly would destroy me, or that loving you properly would bring us both happiness, I would have done things differently. I can not live any of my first seventy years over again. But the ghosts haunt me just the same. You understand?

"I understand, My Lord." Bellatrix pulled her wand back out and used it to Lighten him, to help guide him to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, and as she helped him out of his clothes, she Summoned a few potions for dehydration and headache. He'd need them in the morning, she reckoned. She put them on the bedside table on his side of the bed, and she asked,

"What prompted this drinking session, My Lord?"

"I… I realised…" He shut his eyes looked pale and drawn, "I realised that any day now, either of us could fall asleep and wake up sometime else. That's how you got to 1996. I don't think it will happen. I don't. But it could. And the other thing is just that... I can't make the memories go away. I dream of things I wish I could undo. I am forced to meet with people I wish did not exist. I love _you_. I can't seem to treat you properly. I was awful to you in that first time. Now I've managed to get myself smacked by you. Good hit, by the way."

"I do apologise about that," Bellatrix said quietly, bringing him some flannel trousers, but as he took them, he mumbled,

"I more than earned it. I'll replace the Ever Cool glass. Isn't the same. I am… I am… _so_ very sorry."

Bellatrix moved to stand between his knees, and he threaded his around her waist. She played with his hair a little and kissed his forehead. He smelled so strongly of alcohol that she avoided taking a deep breath, but she said, "Let's just focus on tomorrow, Master. Tomorrow you are Lord Voldemort, not Tom Riddle. Tomorrow, Anthony Moreno will be discussing Muggle segregation policies with the wizard who will soon enough be leading all of Britain. The wizard who would be king."

Voldemort kissed between Bellatrix's breasts and burrowed his face there, breathing in and swaying where he sat. "And the witch who would be queen."

Bellatrix kissed the top of his head and mumbled, "No ghosts allowed tomorrow, My Lord. No ghosts allowed."

 **Author's Note: We will meet Mr. Moreno soon enough! But we definitely needed to establish a few things here! a) We needed a little reminder that Bellamort is a seriously dysfunctional romance. b) We needed to see just how much Voldemort is being affected by the memories of times that haven't happened/will never happen again. c) We needed to see that Bellatrix's devotion to Voldemort runs so incredibly deep that her jealousy is negligible compared with Voldemort's guilt. d) We needed to set up the transition between his everyday work at the Ministry and his meeting with Moreno as Voldemort. Hope that all makes sense! Just trying to do some quality storytelling, people! LOL.**

 **Thank you SO SO SO much to all those reading, and especially to those who have taken the time to leave a comment. I appreciate it more than I can say.**


	53. Chapter 53

"Well. Mr Moreno. What a delight it is to meet you at last."

"My Lord… ah, that sounds a little weird coming out of the mouth of an American. Ha!" Anthony Moreno laughed a bit in the parlour of Malfoy Manor where he and Abraxas and Adalie Malfoy had greeted Voldemort and Bellatrix. The latter two had been brought in by Dobby.

" _Sir_ will work fine, if it suits you, or _Mr Riddle_ , if you absolutely must," Voldemort said delicately, and Moreno smiled warmly.

" _Sir_ works really well for my clumsy American mouth. And you… My Lady. I can go ahead and say that. What an honour. Truly."

"Mr Moreno. A pleasure." Bellatrix extended her hand, which Anthony Moreno accepted, planting a very chaste little kiss on her knuckles. He was a rather short man, and quite fat, probably fifteen years older than Voldemort and Abraxas. His thinning hair was neatly combed with shining pomade, and his chevron mustache was tightly groomed. He wore pinstriped robes, and a bowler hat of his sat on the low table.

"Mr Malfoy and his lovely wife have made you comfortable, I trust?" Voldemort asked, and Moreno scoffed.

"You kidding? This place is beautiful, and they've been nothing but kind. Long journey over here on a steamship, and the Malfoys have been incredibly hospitable. Have to say, I'm looking forward to dinner."

"Well, I believe Dobby will 'ave eet ready any moment now," Adalie Malfoy said, "eef you weel all join me in the dining room."

Everyone made their way out of the parlour and into the dining room, where the chairs were labeled with floating place cards. Lord Voldemort was placed at the head of the table, of course, with Bellatrix to his right and Moreno to his left. The Malfoys were further down the table, opposite one another, with Adalie beside Bellatrix and Abraxas beside Moreno. Everyone sat, and once Champagne and water appeared, Voldemort said,

"I should like to propose a toast."

He noticed that Adalie raised only her water glass, and suspicion went through him. He cleared his throat a little and said,

"To shared values and new friendships, and to Mr Moreno. Welcome to Britain. Cheers."

"Cheers!" said everyone, Moreno more vociferously than the rest of them. The first course appeared - squash blossoms stuffed with ricotta - and Anthony Moreno exclaimed,

"Now, Mrs Malfoy, you're French! How dare you deprive me of exquisite French cuisine just so we can eat Italian-American food! Still, I am grateful."

"Well, we wanted to try your own food. I think eet ees lovely to eat," Adalie said. But after she put one bite into her mouth, her fork and knife clattered to her plate, and she murmured, "Oh, excuse me."

She flew to her feet and suddenly dashed from the dining room. Bellatrix gave Abraxas a knowing look, and Moreno, a lifelong bachelor, asked cautiously,

"Oh, goodness. Is she all right?"

"Well, I don't want to presume, but I think perhaps Madam Malfoy is in a… delicate situation?" Voldemort asked, looking to Malfoy. Abraxas nodded, seeming cautiously optimistic as he said with a little smile,

"Adalie's not too far along, so we hadn't announced. They say the sicker you are, the better it sticks, so…"

"Oh, well… my congratulations!" Moreno exclaimed. He wisely changed the subject then, turning his attention to Bellatrix. "My Lady, I'd heard that you grew up around my neck of the woods. New York?"

Bellatrix had done meticulous research, so she said smoothly, "Hell's Kitchen. 59th Street. Living in hiding, of course, away from both No-Majs and MACUSA. It was a hellish existence… an appropriately-named neighbourhood. We spent loads of time here in Britain, as well."

"Forgive me; I don't mean to insult you," Moreno said, setting down his fork and knife. The appetisers vanished, and they were replaced by meaty lasagne. He asked Bellatrix carefully, "What was it like growing up in a family that was in violation of Rappaport's Law?"

Bellatrix gave him her carefully scripted response. "It taught me the value of the law, Mr Moreno. My Muggle father convinced my mother to marry him through both physical and emotional force. She was a fool. She broke the law, and I paid the price. We were always on the run. We didn't fit into either world, and rightly so. I know perfectly well that my creation was an abomination, but I am determined to live my life dedicated to keeping filthy Muggles like my father away from vulnerable, weaker-minded Magical people who would sully themselves and the community. We can't let the wizarding world get watered down. I never knew No-Maj life in America, nor Muggle life in Britain. I never got real schooling. I never got to trot off to the shops, or peruse the windows in Diagon Alley. It wasn't until I met the Dark Lord that I realised I could have a real purpose."

"Wow." Moreno looked awed. He picked up his fork and knife, and his eyes watered a little. "Wow. That's… it's just inspiring. I don't know what to say."

Adalie Malfoy came back into the room, and she murmured softly, "I 'ave taken a nausea potion; I should be all right now. I apologise."

"No, Adalie; don't apologise!" Bellatrix exclaimed. Voldemort took the opportunity to slip sleekly into Moreno's mind with Legilimency. What did he really think of Bellatrix's story? Moreno sensed that something in the story was missing, but he knew that whatever it was, it didn't matter. Perhaps she'd been the product of something terribly insidious, like a No-Maj raping a witch. Maybe she had no Magical parents at all. It didn't matter. This Bella Townsend had been undocumented in the American and British Ministries for good reason. Whatever her backstory, she had come from a mess and had crawled out of it. And she was now the wife of a man who was going to make something very special happen. Voldemort sensed no hostility, no wickedness. He sensed no Occlumency shields. He pulled out of the American's mind and watched Moreno shiver a little.

"Tell us, Mr Moreno," Abraxas Malfoy said, "whether there is a significant movement in America to repeal Rappaport's Law and allow closer relations with Muggles."

"There is, yeah." Moreno dabbed at his lips and nodded solemnly. "Some say the law's only got ten years' worth of life. I hope that a partnership between Britain and America can protect purity of the Magical communities in both countries."

"I would very much like to solidify that partnership," Voldemort agreed. He savoured a few bites of the tomato and beef and noodle, and he smiled a bit. "I quite like your Italian-American cuisine, Mr Moreno."

"And it's so nice of you to serve it." Moreno smiled, and Voldemort sensed genuine warmth there. He laughed a little and said,

"You know, I think if you'd attended Hogwarts, you just might have been a Hufflepuff. I do not mean that as an insult."

"You're not the first to suggest that!" Moreno grinned. He shrugged. "What can I say? I was a Pukwudgie at Ilvermorny; my good buddy calls me Puffy. Says I look like a Puffskein. Oh, well. All that matters is that I'm good at my job, right? And I like to think that I am."

"Well, you certainly accomplished the task I requested of you in a timely fashion," Voldemort affirmed. "I wonder, if I asked you to ensure a network of spies in the American Ministry, could you do it? We need to monitor activity on Rappaport's law and intercede where need be on legislation. We need to try and ensure that Muggle - No-Maj - segregation remains intact. Do you suppose you can secure allies in your government to help with that?"

"Yes, sir. I can do that," Moreno said very firmly. The main courses disappeared, and they were replaced by honey tart with pine nuts. Voldemort smirked a little at Bellatrix, and she smiled back as she dug her spoon in. Moreno made a noise of happiness and said,

"My Italian grandmother used to bake this stuff. Very difficult to make, even with magic."

"We leave it for the House-Elves to do," Bellatrix confirmed, "but it's my very favourite."

"You know, sir," Moreno said suddenly to Voldemort, "there were… murmurs… in certain circles in America. Murmurs among certain families, certain circles. People related to the Yaxleys, to the Shacklebolts. Talk of a young wizard in Britain who was charismatic, who wanted to focus on blood purity and keep No-Majs in their place, away from the wizarding community like we do in America. People started talking about uniting under this guy, about making sure Rappaport's Law stays in place, about fighting for him in Britain so that we can keep our status quo in America. I just want you to know, sir, that there's a lot of support for you. Underground, sure. Murmurs, whispers. Talk behind hands. Anonymous still, sure. But the support is there. And I think that if our situation really gets threatened, and if you really make a name for yourself, then that support's gonna get loud. You know what I mean, sir?"

"I believe I do." Voldemort sipped his water and ate some of his tart.

"The Dark Lord has dozens of marked and sworn soldiers here in Britain," Abraxas Malfoy said, proudly pulling back his sleeve. Bellatrix did the same. Voldemort brought out his wand and touched it to his Dark Mark, and the other two hissed as their Marks went black. Moreno's eyes went wide, and Voldemort smirked as he saw a look of awe and glee cross Moreno's face.

"Mr Moreno," Voldemort said, "How would you like to go back to America with a new… tattoo?"

Moreno grinned and nodded. "I'd like that very much… Master."

 **Author's Note: So, Voldemort trusts Moreno and has made his first American Death Eater. And it sounds like, given that the status quo in America is under threat (as we know that their situation canonically changed in the 1960s), he may be able to have his empire, after all. Oh, and Adalie's pregnant! Will it last? Is it Abraxas', or did Abraxas get some other random Death Eater to knock up Adalie? Will Voldemort and Bellatrix talk through their fight where she hit him? Some make up and celebratory sex, perhaps? Drama, drama, drama. Thank you so much for the incredible feedback on the last chapter. It was so fulfilling to see people's reactions to that chapter, truly. Thank you for reading.**


	54. Chapter 54

"Well," Bellatrix said, spitting out her toothpaste and rinsing her mouth in the sink, "I feel as though that meeting went very well, Master. Don't you?"

"Couldn't have gone any better, I don't suppose," he said from inside the shower. His soap smelled like cedarwood, and Bellatrix breathed in the masculine aroma. She pumped a bit of Dr Dredge's Face Cordial onto a wet wash rag and began to scrub the makeup off her face, and she asked,

"Did you really get a good read on his mind, My Lord? Moreno, I mean."

"Yes," Voldemort replied confidently. "He thinks there's something missing from your story - some tragic detail perhaps - but he isn't suspicious or untrusting. In fact, he's eager. Kind, almost gentle. I wasn't kidding when I said I pegged him as a Hufflepuff. And part of that's loyalty. I can sense it. He'll be a good ally. I know I did the right thing in putting the Dark Mark on him. He's the seed I'll plant in America. Things will be different this time round."

Bellatrix smiled as she ran the rag under the faucet and rinsed her face. She wrung it out and dabbed at her skin, and then she stared into the mirror and wondered what she would have looked like as a forty-five-year-old in 1996. She pinched her lips and wondered aloud,

"Do you think Adalie's baby came from Abraxas?"

"Erm… I don't know." Voldemort sounded more than a little hesitant. He shut off the shower, and Bellatrix reached for a fluffy white towel. She was already in a skimpy little black silk nightgown, but she'd forgone knickers, having realised she was more comfortable at night without them. She'd been allowed to shower first when they'd come back from the Malfoys', mostly so that Voldemort could send off a few owls notifying his closest Death Eaters that they had a new American comrade. Now Voldemort accepted the towel and peeled back the curtain, and he admitted,

"I looked into Malfoy's mind before we left. He could feel me in there, so I got out fast. I saw a snippet of a conversation between him and Yaxley… I think I know what it was about."

"Yaxley." Bellatrix shut her eyes. "They're both blond."

"Right." Voldemort stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel round his waist. "It doesn't really matter, anyway. The child would be Pureblood. Adalie would stop complaining. Abraxas would be functional again. Lucius Malfoy is from our memories; he doesn't have to be born the same way here. We need to forget the way things happened in our remembered timelines. This way is new. Speaking of which, there's someone who has to go."

"Who's that?" Bellatrix asked, stepping aside so that Voldemort could pick up his steel comb. He looked in the mirror as he combed his hair, and he said firmly,

"Charlus Potter, the grandfather of Harry Potter, is a Pureblood. It seems unwise to take him out. I thought about it. More intelligent by far is to eliminate the Muggle side of his family."

"Oh. Yes, that makes sense," Bellatrix nodded. "Will you let me do it, Master?"

He turned round slowly. "Geoffrey and Wendy Evans. They've just married earlier this year. Bought a rather hideous little place in Cokeworth; the man works in a factory there. This time, I don't want a clean disappearance. These people's grandchild was the reason that I spent over a decade without a body. Their offspring was the reason I vanished, the reason I lose my power. The reason you went to prison for fourteen years. I want them to suffer. I want them tortured. Dismembered. Bloodied. I want the Muggle police to find a horror show in that house in Cokeworth. You understand?"

Bellatrix felt her eyes water, and she nodded. She smiled just a little and promised him,

"I will exact revenge for you, Master. But I have to ask… why don't you do it yourself?"

"Do you not want to do it?" He threw up an eyebrow, and Bellatrix scoffed.

"Of course I want to," she murmured, and he approached her.

"Well. That's why I'm sending you. Shall I come with you and watch you, or would you rather go alone?"

She shrugged. "Whatever pleases you. You must have whatever you want."

He sighed then, a very long sigh, and he chewed his bottom lip. "We need to discuss what happened last night, I think."

Bellatrix's eyes seared like fire, and she said apologetically, "I really am so sorry for striking you."

"That is not what I meant." He huffed a breath and brushed his fingers over the thick, damp braid she'd made of her hair. "Bella… the years that I remember that you never lived… both before and after you knew me… those were not ideal years, you understand. I was not a good man. I am still not a good man."

"I think you are," Bellatrix insisted earnestly, but he shook his head.

"No. No. I've just ordered you to torture and kill a couple," he reminded her, but Bellatrix laughed a little and said,

"A couple of _Muggles_ , Master!"

"Still," he said. "I taunted you during the years we were together, and those memories are real for me. I made you feel small, and I did it on purpose, and those memories - real memories - come to me in dreams. Nightmares. Edna Flint and Noam Wood just serve as reminders of the fool I was, a half century ago to me, but so recently here. And so I do struggle. But it is not your fault, and you deserve far better than a husband who's two-thirds of the way through a bottle of firewhisky and Vanishes your Christmas gift. And for that I apologise, and I more than earned getting struck."

"You are my master," Bellatrix said, trying not to cry. "I will always obey you. I was disrespectful."

"Stop that," he murmured, shaking his head. "You needed more of me the first time round, and you need more of me now."

"No. It's me who must do better," Bellatrix said, feeling rather stubborn. She watched him scowl at her, but she continued, "If I were serving you more adequately, you would not be feeling so conflicted. I must find ways to be a better soldier, a better wife, so that you can more effectively -"

" _Stop it!_ " Voldemort snarled, and he snatched Bellatrix's jaw. She was shocked at his force, and she gasped when he bent to crush her mouth with his. He backed her up until she hit the wall, and then suddenly he was ripping his towel away from his waist. He drove his tongue between Bellatrix's lips, and his free hand squeezed very hard at her breast. She squealed loudly, feeling pain and liking it, and her own hands desperately clenched at his biceps for support.

"Do you not realise, you silly creature, that without you, I am _nothing_? Literally nothing? Without you, I am a shadow, a wisp, a failure? I _failed_ , Bellatrix, when I let you go! The prophecy you delivered to me is _real_. I know it! I need you. I need you. I love you."

He kissed her again then, far more carefully this time, and when he pulled away, his hand released her breast, and he whispered,

"I am sorry for every single time that I have been a monster to you. I will be the most terrible man that has ever existed - to everyone but you. I will be the greatest Dark wizard in history; I will reign and I will rule. But to you, Bellatrix, I will be better this time. I promise it. We both need it to be better this time, you understand?"  
"I think so, Master," she whispered, her voice shaking against his lips. He seized her waist in his hands and lifted her up, and Bellatrix yelped in surprise. On instinct, she tightly snared her legs round his waist and her arms round his shoulders, and her eyes met his as his half-hard cock slid into her. His breath hitched as they linked up, and she felt him going firmer inside of her. He started to rock his hips, pushing her against the wall, and she knew that he'd Lightened her to help his burden. The feel of him grinding her just so was good, especially as he got harder, so she let her head push back against the wall, and she whispered,

"It's always right with you. Always feels like a puzzle that's come together."

"That's because we were never meant to be ripped apart. You were an essential organ ripped out of my body the day you married Rodolphus," Voldemort growled, pumping his hips a little faster, and Bellatrix reminded him,

"I've never married him."

"You certainly never will. Not now," he mumbled breathlessly. He bent a little to kiss her, and she tightened her legs and arms on him. He was going so deep inside of her now, each thrust filling her completely, each retreat leaving her empty.

"I want you to come and watch," she panted, and he let out a low laugh. She nodded frantically. "The Muggles. The Evans. I want you to come and watch me play with them. Make a mess of them. Destroy them before they can destroy you."

"Yes. Good girl." He quickened his hips up, somehow deepening his thrusts more than ever, and the angle shifted until Bellatrix's clit was getting stroked perfectly with every pistoning motion. She cried out, and Voldemort kissed her exposed neck as she neared her peak.

"Oh!" she moaned desperately, wanting nothing more than to bury her fingers in his hair. "I love you. I love you, I love you…"

She sounded like a blithering idiot, she knew, but if he minded, he didn't show it. Everything was hot and ringing, made worse by the steam from the shower. She was clenching, flushed with pleasure, and she could hardly hold onto him. He pinned her hard to the wall as she finished. A few moments later, as she caught her breath and felt thirst come over her, he bucked his hips a few times and then stilled, and he buried his face into the crook of Bellatrix's neck. His breath huffed, hot and deep and quick, and she could feel the bursts of his come from his twitching cock inside of her. His body seemed to lose its strength then, but he managed to ease her down from the wall.

They stood there for a moment, red-cheeked and breathless, and Bellatrix finally murmured,

"Would you hand me that wash cloth on the sink, Master?"

He did, and as she cleaned herself up, he reached for their wands off the ledge beneath the mirror. He Scoured himself and then hung up his towel, and he cleared his throat as he said,

"I'm going to get some water. Would you like some?"

"Yes, please."

She watched him go, and she stepped out into the bedroom, flopping down onto her back on the bed and staring at the ceiling. She was drowsy and lost track of the minute or two that he was gone, until she heard him say,

"If you sleep like that, I think we'll both wind up uncomfortable in the morning."

She giggled and sat up, accepting the water he'd brought her. She sipped it and then studied him as he pulled on some pyjama trousers from the wardrobe, and she said,

"Perhaps you will be the most terrible Dark wizard in history, Master. But to me, you are a very good man."

He smirked over his shoulder to her and nodded. "Thank you, Bella."

 **Author's Note: Awwwww. Good old Bellamort fluff and make-up sex after a political meeting. Always fun, right? And Adalie's baby is (probably) Yaxley's...? Makes you wonder about Lucius, no? Mwah hahaha. Next up… the destruction of Lily Potter's parents! *Gasp* But we have to make sure that Harry Potter can't be born, and Voldemort's right - messing with a Pureblood family probably isn't the right way. Time for Bellatrix to start having fun in the most Bellatrix-y way. Uh-oh.**


	55. Chapter 55

' _So. Everyone knows their roles? Any confusion? Good. Dismissed. Bellatrix, stay.'_

' _Yes, Master.' She nodded as the table cleared, as the meeting dispersed. Rodolphus Lestrange stood from his chair, picked up Bellatrix's hand, toyed with it a little, and bent to kiss her on the lips. Voldemort's stomach curled at the sight, and he averted his eyes. Rodolphus said softly,_

' _See you at home.'_

' _All right. Can you get roasted goat made up for dinner?' she asked. 'I'm famished.'_

' _Sounds perfect. See you.' Rodolphus released his hand and bowed his head to Voldemort. 'Master.'_

 _Voldemort kept his face stony as Rodolphus left the room, and once the door shut, he found Bellatrix's eyes and said almost aggressively,_

' _I need you to go straight for Alastor Moody in battle tomorrow. He's become like a feral animal ever since he lost his eye. If you can't kill him - he uses Apparition evasively - then Stupefy him so he's not a threat. Get him out of the way quickly. Understood?'_

' _Yes, Master,' Bellatrix nodded. There was a long silence then, and finally she asked, 'Anything else?'_

' _You seem happy with him,' Voldemort said simply. It had been six months since Bellatrix's wedding to Rodolphus. Every day since that wedding, Voldemort had become more and more convinced that he'd made an absolutely terrible mistake. But it was much too late. There was nothing to be done about it now. Bellatrix drummed her neatly manicured fingernails on the table and said carefully,_

' _You know, My Lord, I fought you so hard about marrying him. I was distraught. I was ungrateful. But I should thank you.'_

' _Oh.' Voldemort let out a bitter little laugh and tipped his head. 'Hm. You're welcome.'_

' _He does love me. Very much,' Bellatrix said, and Voldemort's eyes burned along with his chest. He shook his head a little; he didn't want to hear this. But Bellatrix barrelled on, 'At first, we barely knew one another. But he's fallen very much in love with me. Sometimes he Conjures me flowers for no reason at all. Just because. Sometimes he kisses me… just because. And he tells me all the time that I'm the only one for him.'_

 _She'd said that on purpose, Voldemort knew. She'd said that because he'd spent years taunting her with imaginary witches. He nodded and said softly,_

' _Well, I'm relieved. I feared that I might be selling you into unhappiness, Bellatrix. I am glad that your marriage has made you content.'_

' _Thank you, Master,' Bellatrix said, tipping her head up a little. Her eyes were wet, he could see, but he could tell she was determined not to cry. She rose from her chair and confirmed,_

' _I shall go immediately for Moody tomorrow. Is there anything else you need of me, My Lord?'_

' _No. You may go,' he said, feeling like he'd be sick on the ground. He watched her walk around the table, watched her put her hand on the door, and he practically shouted, 'Bella!'_

 _She startled, and he flung himself up and rushed over toward her. Her eyes went round as dinner plates as he lurched rather ungracefully toward her, and she shrunk back a bit. He seized her face, very impulsively, and he felt her shake her head beneath his hands. A look of resignation came over her face._

 _Kiss her, a piece of his mind screamed. He hadn't done so in months. He craved her, that flavour of black tea and peppermint. He needed her, the feel of her. He hadn't realised how badly he would miss her until she'd been taken away, amputated from him like a limb. His fingers trembled terribly on her cheeks, and he lowered his face toward hers. His breath mingled with hers, and he was a half second from doing it, from kissing her._

 _But then she gently pulled his hands away, bringing his right fingers between them. She kissed his knuckles, almost sweetly, breathing in and then lowering his hand. She stepped back, her eyes shut, tears streaming silently down her cheeks, and she whispered almost inaudibly,_

' _You had your chance. Master.'_

' _Bellatrix…' His voice cracked a little, and he shook his head desperately as she released his fingers. She smiled a little at him, but of course it didn't reach her eyes. She nodded once and swiped her fingers over her tear-streaked face, and she said firmly,_

' _I shall fight hard for you tomorrow, My Lord. Goodbye.'_

 _He said nothing. He just watched her leave, and when the door shut, he leaned heavily on the table, knowing for certain that he would never, ever kiss her again. She was lost, gone, permanently taken from him. She was happy without him. And it was his own damned fault._

 _He reached into his robes, into the pocket of his black wool trousers, and he pulled out the diamond ring that he put in there every day. He still wasn't entirely sure why he tortured himself by carrying the ring around every single day. Sometimes he would do this, what he was doing now - he would reach into his pocket and touch at the stones, at the cold metal, and imagine slipping it onto Bellatrix's finger. He would have fantasies about her being his instead of Rodolphus'. And then he would get back to work._

' _You fool,' he whispered to himself, closing his hand around the ring in his pocket and bringing it out. He opened his shaking fingers and stared at the ring, at the little black diamonds that had seemed just right for Bellatrix when he'd had the piece made. But she would always wear Rodolphus' ring, and that had been Voldemort's own doing. And he loved her. He made her happy. He Conjured her flowers 'just because,' and he promised her that she was the only one._

 _Voldemort shoved the ring back into his trouser pocket and shut his eyes, shaking his head. He whipped his wand, shattering a mirror on the wall and listening to the clatter as the frame fell to the ground, and he whispered again,_

' _You damned bloody fool.'_

Voldemort sat upright, panting frantically, drenched in sweat. He was sobbing, crying like a child. He wiped angrily at his tears, enraged that he'd awakened in this condition.

"Master?" he heard, and he sniffed as he growled in a voice deep and gravelly from sleep and crying,

"I'm fine."

Bellatrix rolled over slowly and rubbed at her eyes. "Are you?"

"Yes. Go back to sleep. You'll need your energy for the Evans." Voldemort flopped back down onto his pillow, pushing the blankets down because of how hot he felt. Bellatrix sighed, studying him a little, and she asked meekly,

"One of your ghosts?"

"Something like that," he replied simply. Bellatrix curled up against him, apparently not minding the way he was covered in sweat. She reached up for his face, ignoring his tears, and he covered her hand with his. He relished the feel of her ring under his fingers. He toyed with it a little, twisting it round her finger, dragging his thumb over the diamond.

"I just thought of something," Bellatrix murmured, raising her eyes up to Voldemort. She giggled softly then and said, "Rodolphus is a foetus."

Voldemort smirked. He knew why she'd said that. She would know that if he was playing with her ring, then the memory that had bothered him had something to do with her, with her marriage. Still, he couldn't help but smile a little at her, at the way she'd made him think of Rodolphus Lestrange being in utero. He was certainly less than a threat here, and this was what was real for them.

"He's not even going to be eating solids for… over half a year. Poor thing'll be spitting up for ages…" Bellatrix laughed, and Voldemort choked out a chuckle. Then he teased Bellatrix,

"Well, maybe someday you'll be his much older girlfriend."

"I like older men," Bellatrix replied, narrowing her eyes. "Much older men."

"Go back to sleep," he said, kissing her forehead. "I'm sorry I woke you."

She lay her face onto his chest, kissing his damp skin there, and she reminded him, "I am your wife, My Lord. I am your wife, and I love you."

"Yes." He nodded, trying hard to ground himself in that reality. "Yes. That's what's real. Goodnight, Bella."

"Goodnight, My Lord."

 **Author's Note: Raise your hand if this made you feel sorry for Lord Voldemort! Sorry for the short length and random interlude nature of this, but I want the Evans torture-murder scene to be its own weighty-crazy thing, and I do need to do some planning for the exact logistics. The specific flashback at the beginning of this chapter was really burning a hole in my mind word for word, and so I imagine it would have similarly bothered Voldemort. ;) I promise no more Bellamort fluff for a while - we've got some Muggles to do away with so that there won't be a Harry Potter? Everybody ready?**


	56. Chapter 56

"Are you sure you don't want to do this yourself, Master?" Bellatrix asked, looking at Voldemort through the pouring rain. It was evening, supper time, and all the Muggles were in their houses. Radios were blaring through windows fogged up by cold and rain. Sad-looking automobiles sat outside even sadder-looking houses crammed together. Voldemort smirked, adjusting his waterproofed fedora on his head.

"No, Bella," he said over the sound of the rain. "I want to watch you work. In 1970 and in 1996, I relived you deeds only through Legilimency. It has been decades of my lived experience since I have personally watched you do anything truly wicked. I intend on being a spectator today."

"Well, I hope you enjoy the show, My Lord," she laughed, the boots he'd bought her sloshing in a pothole filled with muddy water. Cokeworth was a hellhole, she'd decided. She pulled the hood of her rain cloak further up her head and told him, "I've got marvelous things planned for good old Geoffrey and Wendy Evans. Here it is… Number Three, Bramley Close."

She stared up at the sour-looking brick house, a narrow little place smashed between numbers two and four toward the corner of the little road. Bellatrix watched as Voldemort began to put up some wards. She knew why. They'd take the wards down when they were done, when they were ready for the bodies to be found. But they couldn't have screams alerting the neighbours.

" _Inauritus… Surdus… Cave Inimicum… Repello Muggletum._ " Voldemort cast spells to silence sounds coming from the Evans' house, as well as protective and repelling charms, and then he nodded. The rain was really coming down now. Bellatrix cleared her throat and pulled her wand out, but she yanked it far up into the sleeve of her cloak until just the end was poking out between her fingers. Then she raised her left fist and knocked five times on the door with the worn-looking brass knocker. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at Voldemort, just a bit nervously, and he told her in a reassuring tone,

"I'm looking forward to it."

"I'll get it, dear!" called a woman's voice from inside the house. A radio shut off, and then the door opened, and a pretty young woman with auburn hair styled into fashionable waves stood before them. She wore a simple blouse that looked a little cheap, and her wool skirt lacked the volume that Bellatrix knew to be in fashion. But she was clean and put-together. That wouldn't matter, Bellatrix thought, once she was covered in blood.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked, and Voldemort said,

"Mrs Evans?"

"Yes," she nodded, and then suddenly she vibrated where she stood. She looked a little dazed, and she called behind her, "Geoff, dear, those people are here about the electricity!"

She opened the door further and stepped back, and she said warmly,

"Please do come out of the rain. Here, let me take your hats and coats."

Bellatrix smiled a little at how skillfully Voldemort had managed to Confound Wendy Evans. She let the woman hang up her cloak, along with Voldemort's trenchcoat and hat, on the brass rack near the door. They followed Wendy into the sitting-room, where Geoffrey Evans was standing looking a little confused. He held his hand out to Voldemort and said,

"Geoff Evans. Sorry; who are…" He, too shook a little in place, and he said, "Oh, right. Those flickering lights. We do need to get them fixed."

"Right. Well, shall we sit and discuss the matter?" Bellatrix suggested, and both of the Evans moved like machinery as they sat side-by side on a sofa. Voldemort settled quite comfortably into an armchair, and he turned up half his mouth as he told Bellatrix,

"My beautiful creature. Show me what you can do."

Bellatrix grinned, pulled her wand out properly, aimed it square at Geoffrey Evans, and shouted, " _Stupefy!"_

He shot backward, his head slamming against the wall as he collapsed into the sofa. The blue light was blinding for a moment, but Wendy Evans shrieked and clutched at her husband's waistcoat.

"Geoff!" she screamed. "Geoff! Wake up!"

"Get over here, Wendy," Bellatrix snarled. She aimed her wand at Wendy at incanted nonverbally, _Levicorpus!_ With an upward flick of her wand, she sent Wendy Evans soaring into the air, dangling by her ankle. Her wool skirt and the petticoat beneath poufed out, revealing her white satin knickers, and Wendy shrieked in shock and fear. Bellatrix giggled like mad and glanced over to Voldemort, who looked very amused where he sat in the armchair with its crocheted cosy on the top.

"Shall I just drop her onto her head and end it, Master?" Bellatrix teased. "I bet if I dropped her properly, I'd break her neck."

"Play with her," Voldemort said, tipping his head, and Bellatrix nodded. She switched over to a regular Levitation charm and dragged Wendy to the ugly knotted rug in the middle of the sitting room. She set Wendy down, and Wendy tried to scramble to her feet. Bellatrix drew neat squares in the air and said tightly,

" _Tetraplegus._ "

Voldemort laughed loudly as Wendy shrieked, unable to move at all. Her limbs were, of course, paralysed. As Wendy lay in unmoving agony, Bellatrix grinned, crossed her arms, and said,

"A very good man taught me that spell, Wendy. Would you like to see another magic trick? I've got loads. Ready? Here's another trick for you! _Crucio!_ "

A red web of light burst forth from Bellatrix's wand, snaring around Wendy Evans' body. Bellatrix felt a jolt of nausea from casting the spell; she wasn't used to doing so. She only held it for ten seconds or so, during which time Wendy shrieked and writhed. When Bellatrix released the curse, she looked to Voldemort, and he'd gone serious all of a sudden.

"Something wrong, Master?" Bellatrix asked breathlessly, but he shook his head as he curled his fingers over the arms of the chair.

"No," he said, his voice stony. "Nothing is wrong. Continue."

Bellatrix was confused, but she walked up to hover over Wendy, and she said,

"Let's see what happens when dear old Geoff watches you die, eh? _Diffindo._ "

She drew her wand in a diagonal line across Wendy's torso, and blood gurgled out at once. It ran in streams, staining her blouse straight through and soaking into the rug. Wendy convulsed a little and then stared at the ceiling, gasping for air. She didn't have long, Bellatrix knew. She rushed over to Geoffrey Evans, who was still unconscious on the sofa, and she incanted,

" _Rennervate._ "

He slowly woke up, looking with bleary eyes to Bellatrix. Then his attention turned to Wendy on the ground, and he whispered,

"No. No, no, no… Wendy. Wendy!"

He hurtled himself off the sofa and collapsed, still weak from having been Stupefied. He crawled across the floor to Wendy, and he began to sob. He tried to staunch her bleeding, and he bent to kiss her, touching his lips to hers, and he murmured,

"Talk to me, Wendy. Say something, darling. Please. Please."

But Wendy didn't speak, and Bellatrix aimed her wand at Geoffrey and exclaimed,

" _CRUCIO!"_

This time she didn't let up. Geoffrey Evans shook and writhed all over his wife as she died, as she took her last trembling breaths through lips stained with blood. He landed on the rug beside her, covered in Wendy's blood as he screamed, as he shrieked with the power of ten voices. His back arched and his fists pounded. His veins popped from his neck, his teeth clenched, his lips curled back. His eyes bugged out and then wrenched shut. His hair started to go grey. His skin started to go pale green. He finally went quiet, still twisting and arching and shaking. Beside him, Wendy's body was no longer gurgling blood. The red light around Geoffrey started to flicker and fade as Bellatrix grew weary. She felt ill and dizzy, and she whipped her wand back, only then realising she was coated in sweat. She panted, trying to catch her breath, and she looked up to see that Voldemort was standing at the far end of the sitting room.

"Bellatrix," he said, sounding completely awed. His lips curled up a little, and he stared at the people on the floor. He nodded and said, "Their daughter would have been Lily Evans. The Mudblood who would give birth to Harry Potter. Their daughter and her son were the reason I spent so many years without a body, without followers, the reason you were in prison for so long. Look at these people, Bellatrix, these _insects_ , and think about all of that."

Bellatrix did. She looked at Geoffrey and Wendy Evans, and she thought of her master floating alone in a forest, without a form, abandoned by nearly everyone, because of these people's Mudblood daughter, because of the prophecy, because of Harry Potter. And she raised her wand, and she shrieked,

" _Avada Kedavra! AVADA KEDAVRA!_ "

The jade green light that filled the room was blinding. When it faded. Bellatrix felt nothing but relief. Her heart was racing, but her mind was at ease. She nodded, knowing that the destruction that had befallen Lord Voldemort because of Harry Potter could never come to pass again.

"Master," she said, looking up across the bodies until she met Voldemort's eyes, "have I made you proud?"

"Always," he nodded. "You always make me proud, Bellatrix. And you know, you are always beautiful. But never, ever more beautiful than this. You are never more beautiful than in these deliciously wicked moments."

He was smiling a little then, but his eyes looked damp with emotion, and he chewed his lip hard.

"We should go," he said. "We should go take down the wards and go. Oh, but before we do… put a quick Severing Charm on Geoffrey's neck. Find something of worth in this hovel and Vanish it. And I'll break their door on the way out. We need the Muggle police to think this was a break-in gone wrong. Let's move."

 **Author's Note: Whew! Bellatrix at her most Bellatrix-y! And of course Voldemort gets emotional not only seeing her torture and kill (hey, whatever floats your boat, dude) but also seeing the possibility of the downfall he's lived through literally killed off. Up next… Malfoy pregnancy drama! Woo! Oh, and all ships are perfectly fine crossing the Atlantic, right? RIGHT?**


	57. Chapter 57

Bellatrix breathed in and moaned softly at the smoky aroma of bacon. She sat up slowly, rubbing at her eyes and hearing the crackle of a rasher in a cast iron skillet. She smiled a little, slid out of the comfortable white bed she shared with Voldemort, and made her way out of the bedroom. As she did, she heard the hum of instrumental music from the Wireless, and she grinned as she came walking into the little dining space.

The table had been set with a white tablecloth, and a vase was in the centre with white roses, pink dianthus, blue cornflower, and thistle. She wasn't sure if Voldemort had Conjured the flowers, but they were lovely and rustic. There was tea already out; a pot was steaming hot, and a wooden box with bags of rose tea was waiting. Bellatrix walked around the peninsula of the kitchen, past the Wireless that was playing orchestral music, and she found herself staring at a smirking Lord Voldemort.

He was gloriously good-looking right now, standing shirtless before her, his thick hair a complete disaster atop his hair, his eyes tired but shining, his wand in his hand. He had two skillets on the range and toast going in a metal cooker, and he stared right at Bellatrix as he waved his wand to bring up an egg, crack it over the skillet, and Vanish the shell. Bellatrix giggled a little and shook her head.

"You're making breakfast."

"It certainly would seem so," he nodded, "otherwise I'm doing something very odd with eggs."

"Shall I make us some tea?" she asked, and he nodded, saying,

"Be right there with your food."

Bellatrix sank her teeth into her lip. "What on Earth have I done to deserve this, Master?"

He cocked up an eyebrow. "Really?"

She shrugged. The night before, after returning from Cokeworth, they'd made love until they could hardly move, until they'd both badly needed showers and were achy and thirsty. They'd been high on what Bellatrix had done to the Evans couple, on what had been done to the threat that Harry Potter would have posed. They'd been intoxicated, lost in one another, and by the time they'd finally fallen asleep, tangled up and weary and blissful, Bellatrix was very certain that no human being had ever been more in love than she was.

But now, watching him cook them breakfast, looking disheveled and scathingly attractive, her heart accelerated, and she whispered,

"I've never loved you more."

He nodded a little and jerked his head toward the table. "There are bananas and apples and oranges. A parting gift from Mr Moreno, sent here before his boarded his ship."

"Oh. That was kind of him," Bellatrix called. As she picked up an apple out of the basket on the table, she mused aloud, "I rather wish I'd had more time to socialise with him. I've never spent much time with nice people. He seems like a nice person, and one I'd actually enjoy being around."

Voldemort scoffed a bit from the kitchen and said,

"Well, perhaps we can arrange a diplomatic mission to New York. You'd have to research more, so you could act like you'd been there, of course, but… it's feasible."

He came walking out from the kitchen holding two plates, and Bellatrix bit into her apple, tucking her legs up onto her chair. She couldn't help ogling him, the way he needed a shave, the way he was lean but toned. He set down her plate before her, and she grinned up at him as he sat and said,  
"Eggs done easy, with toast for the yolk."

Bellatrix suddenly remembered being in 1996, lost and confused, and her sister in her forties, serving her breakfast, remembering Bellatrix's preference from the 1970s. She blinked a few times and nodded.

"Yes, Master. That's perfect. Thank you."

She broke her yolks all over her toast, and she smiled a bit as Voldemort slid back the lid of the box of tea bags and put one in each cup. She kept eating her apple as he poured scalding water over the tea bags, and then he murmured,

"I always quite liked this song."

"This… this song?" Bellatrix could barely hear the Wireless. Voldemort aimed his wand at the radio and turned it to crank up the volume a bit. He set his wand down and started cutting at his loin of crisped bacon, and he smiled just a little. His eyes were a little strange then, and he said,

"I have so, so few good memories of that place.  
Bellatrix didn't know what he was talking about, so she said nothing. Voldemort ate a bite of bacon, and she listened to the maudlin piece on the radio, suddenly realising that it was a Muggle station playing. This was opera, but not wizarding opera. Bellatrix had heard this before, walking around outside in the streets sometimes. "Nessun Dorma," this piece was called. It was beautiful. She set her half-eaten apple down and tore off some of her yolk-soaked toast as Voldemort explained, his eyes looking dreamy,

"There was a room. There were four of us that stayed in there. We were very small. Perhaps five… maybe younger. There was an old woman, but I can't remember her name. We were meant to rest every afternoon. If we couldn't sleep, we had to rest. The old woman wore a white apron, and every afternoon, she knitted. She knitted caps and scarves and mittens and things that would get worn by the children. And she had a phonograph, and she only played three or four different records whilst we were resting. So I have this vivid memory of this piece, of 'Nessun Dorma.' And when I hear it, I think of the clack of her knitting needles, and I didn't hate her, because I too little to hate yet, and she was kind, I think. And, anyway, I was always tired when I heard it."

Bellatrix had devoured all of her toast by then, fascinated by the story. The song had ended and another one had started, a less pretty tune, and Voldemort raised his wand and turned the volume down again. He scoffed out a little laugh, pulled out his tea bag, and sipped from his tea. Then he set his tea cup down with a steady hand and shrugged.

"That was a very, very long time ago now. More than sixty-five years. You have to remember, Bellatrix, that despite this messy little boy you see, I am an old man."

She wondered distantly why he was talking like that right now, this morning, after a night when they'd been so passionate with one another. Or maybe, she thought, he was talking this way _because_ they'd been so passionate. She sighed a little and reminded him,

"My Lord, I have pined for you in all times, at all ages."

He laughed a little and ate more bacon, and he said disbelievingly, "Can you even imagine what I'd look like in a proper seventy-year-old's body? Either paunchy or twig thin, saggy flesh, hair in all the wrong places, entirely white where it existed, wrinkled to shreds, lucky if my cock worked a quarter of the time…"

He winced, shaking his head, and Bellatrix laughed. He did not seem amused, but she reached for his hand and reminded him warmly,

"Please do not take offence, but even in the first time I knew you, Master, you were not… conventionally handsome. I didn't know it was the Horcruxes. I was attracted to you not because of what you looked like, but because of what you said. How you said it. Who you were."

"And in 1996?" Voldemort challenged her. "I was more snake than man by then. And still you went wet for me. You moaned me, child, didn't you?"

"I believe I did, Master," Bellatrix nodded. She squeezed at his hand and then eyed his messy hair, the little bit of scruff, his sharp dark eyes, and she said, "Your looks here are an added bonus. I would be lying to your face if I claimed they weren't. But I am attracted to _you_ , regardless of your appearance. The incredibly, achingly handsome young wizard's body before me is just a prize, really."

"Well, speaking of prizes for people who may or may not deserve them… actually, I just needed a segue to tell you that we're going to Malfoy Manor this afternoon for tea," Voldemort said, raising his eyebrows. Bellatrix smirked at him.

"You want more information."

He gave her a defensive look. "I think Malfoy owes me a full explanation - and what that means is that you'll sit with Adalie and talk about things like decorating a nursery whilst I pull Malfoy into my office. I wouldn't normally care about their personal drama, but I won't be left out of the loop of something that involves the literal creation of life among my Death Eaters."

"Fair enough, Master." Bellatrix picked up her apple and started eating it again, and she glanced at it as she nodded and said, "I really would like to go to New York, I think. Perhaps in the spring?"

"Perhaps," Voldemort nodded. "We'll see how Moreno does with his boots on the ground."

"My Lord?" Bellatrix said, picking up her tea and studying the wildflowers and the bacon and the remnants of yolk on her plate. She raised her eyes to him and smiled a little, and she said, "Thank you for breakfast."

He bowed his head, almost as though he were showing _her_ respect, and he said, "It was my pleasure. Thank you for killing off any chance of my worst enemy being born, Bellatrix. I enjoyed watching you at work. If you've finished eating, I'll clear your plate."

* * *

"Malfoy," Voldemort said, sitting down in his office. He gestured across from him, and Abraxas sat. Voldemort nodded and said, "Thank you for hosting Moreno. I like the man."

"He was an exemplary guest. Left his room so spotless that little Dobby said there was nothing to clean up," Malfoy joked. "He also insisted on buying our meal when we took him Diagon Alley to visit, and he presented us with a bronze MACUSA medallion as a host's gift. I liked him, as well, Master. I found him amiable and friendly, if a little brash and loud. But he was also undoubtedly dedicated to blood purity, and I do think that you'll have a good ally in America now."

"My hope is that our movement will move vertically through our own ministry whilst also becoming international," Voldemort affirmed. "I think we'll face far less resistance this way once the timing is right for a full-on takeover. I hope you know that, as my right-hand man, your position in my eventual administration will be powerful. But that relies on your being honest with me. You understand?"

Malfoy cleared his throat a little and nodded. He folded his hands on his lap and said carefully,

"I can only hope I've been forgiven for the request I made of you, My Lord. I know I offended you very deeply."

"I think you went and made that request of someone else," Voldemort said. Abraxas hesitated, but then gulped and nodded.

"Yaxley," he said finally. "I was convinced it was me, that I was the problem. I think I may have been right; it only took one time. With the schedule lined up, it only took once, so it must have been me. And Adalie's sickness is fading. She had a check-up with the Healer just yesterday. All's well. Better than any of the other times."

"Oh. Good." Voldemort dragged his tongue over his teeth and muttered, " _Legilimens._ "

He crashed into Malfoy's mind, and Malfoy looked surprised as Voldemort yanked up a memory of Malfoy asking Yaxley for a favour.

' _She's a wreck, Corban,' Abraxas Malfoy was saying. 'You know full well that I'm the sole heir of the Malfoy name and fortune. If I can't produce a child, it's all over for me. Please. Be my friend now.'_

 _Yaxley paced for a very long time and finally said in a cautious voice, 'I want you to stay in the room. I don't want to be accused of anything. I like Adalie, but I don't want anyone saying I've done anything wrong, you know?'_

' _Of course. I'll look away, but I'll be in the room.' Malfoy sighed, feeling sick._

 _Eight days later, Adalie Malfoy was lying on a bed, murmuring up at Corban Yaxley whilst her husband sat in a chair, his eyes burning._

' _Try to relax, Corban,' Adalie was humming. 'You took the potion; it should work in a moment.'_

' _It's not you, Adalie; I'm just nervous,' Corban Yaxley said self-consciously, and Malfoy gripped the arms of the chair as Adalie reached up to pet at Yaxley's stomach. She was just trying to soothe him, he knew, to calm him down. But as the bed creaked, as Adalie curled her legs around Yaxley's waist, Malfoy nearly vomited. And when Adalie actually moaned, when she made a little sound like she was enjoying herself, Malfoy wrenched his eyes shut. He could still hear Yaxley's grunts, his sighs as he finished inside Malfoy's wife._

' _Thank you, Corban,' Adalie whispered, and her voice was too gentle, too soft to Malfoy's ear. Fortunately, Yaxley didn't reply. Malfoy waited as Yaxley put a pillow beneath Adalie's hips and draped a blanket modestly over her and closed his trousers back up properly, and then both wizards walked out of the bedroom, and Malfoy echoed his wife's words, clapping his comrade on the shoulder._

' _Thank you, Yaxley.'_

Voldemort pulled out of Malfoy's head and sighed very slowly. He folded his hands on his desk and said in a careful voice,

"Adalie should be Obliviated."

"She has been, Master. She agreed to it," Malfoy nodded. Voldemort licked his lip.

"Yaxley should also be Obliviated. I'll take care of it."

Malfoy looked a little confused, but Voldemort shook his head a bit and insisted,

"He can't have this to ever hold over you. Ever. Not for any reason. I need you to have an unsullied reputation when my empire is made manifest."

Malfoy bowed his head, shut his eyes for a moment, and then said softly, "You are merciful. Thank you, Master."

 **Author's Note: Drama, drama, drama! Fluff and drama! And just a hint of foreboding about Moreno! Raise your hand if you're slightly concerned about the next news we get about him. :-/ Fair warning that this story as planned only has about five chapters left, just cause if left to my own devices, I would just write and write and write and write, and this would turn into a 400,000 word behemoth, so I have to figure out a way to end it sooner rather than later!**


	58. Chapter 58

Bellatrix turned the page of _Witch Weekly_ , trying to catch up with current events so that she would know what was going on when Adalie referenced some singer or popular new book. But then the little bell on her International Communicator chimed, and she sprang to attention. She set the magazine down and paid close attention as a message began to print out on the parchment.

One by one, the letters hammered themselves out, and the parchment inched forward. Finally, the parchment tore itself off, and Bellatrix pulled it away and read it. Then her fingers began to shake, and she read it again, and her stomach twisted, and she read it a third time. The message was long, much longer than any that had ever come through the machine.

"No," she whispered, and she read it a fourth time, this time in a whisper in her mind.

 _From: MACUSA To: Br. Ministry of Magic_

 _USS Baracoa collided with a fishing vessel in open water in the Atlantic. 431 passengers aboard the Baracoa survived; 22 were lost, along with 8 on the fishing vessel._

 _MACUSA initially assumed, upon hearing of the disaster, that Mr Anthony Moreno would have used his magic to survive the incident. As it turns out, he was witnessed using magic to ensure that the ship sank slowly enough to ensure his fellow passengers got into lifeboats._

 _His body was on a lower deck when the ship went down; he was last heard calling out the words, "Homenum Revelio," likely searching for anyone else to put into boats. He got trapped in the sinking ship and, despite his magical abilities, drowned._

 _There will be funerary services at MACUSA in absentia for Mr Moreno this week. We will notify you of his replacement as soon as possible._

Bellatrix felt her eyes burn badly, and she stood slowly from her chair. She walked toward the door that separated her office from Voldemort's, and she opened the door.

"I understand the issue of hickory versus willow on traveling brooms," Voldemort was saying to the wizard opposite him. He looked up, and Bellatrix said earnestly,

"Pardon me, but I wonder if this meeting can be rescheduled. I'm afraid I have some extremely urgent news from an international government."

Voldemort looked at the long parchment in Bellatrix's eyes, and he cleared his throat. He said carefully,

"Mr Hedgesmith, would you mind coming back this time tomorrow? I do want to discuss Belgian traveling brooms with you. Truly. Tomorrow?"

"Of course. Thank you, Mr Riddle." The other wizard, a sallow-faced, sad-looking man, rose and bowed a little to Bellatrix. Once he was gone from the office, Bellatrix shut the door behind him, and she passed the parchment to Voldemort. She waited for him to read it, and then she watched him set it, down, touch his shaking fingers to his forehead, and whisper,

"Fuck."

"Yes. Something like that," Bellatrix murmured. She took the chair where the wizard called Hedgesmith had been, and she shrugged. "He died saving Muggles. Who'd have guessed?"

"Turns out he was a damned Gryffindor," Voldemort said, crumpling up the parchment in his hand. He brought his fist to his forehead, shut his eyes, and whispered, "Moreno, you damned fool."

"He could have Apparated into a lifeboat," Bellatrix said, confused. "He could have Obliviated the Muggles around him after whizzing the lifeboat toward shore. He could have -"

"Yes, but instead, he slowed the boat's sinking so the damned Muggles would get into the boats with all their little children, and he went down below to look for more of them, and he fucking drowned," Voldemort said. "He drowned."

He set the crumpled parchment down on the desk and pushed it towards Bellatrix. He shook his head a little and murmured,

"Would you mind running an errand for me? I'll have to draught a letter to the Minister about Moreno, obviously, and I've got an absolutely splitting headache. Thought I was going to pass out in that meeting about broomsticks. Would you go to Level 2, to the Apothecary, and fetch me a MigrEase Potion? Sorry; it's really quite bothersome."

"Yes, of course." Bellatrix walked around Voldemort's desk, and he pushed his chair back a little. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and she bent to touch her forehead to his. "I'm sorry about Moreno. I know you had high hopes for him. I know that things will work out properly."

"I hope so." He rubbed at her waist a little, and he leaned up as she bent to brush her lips against his. She felt compelled to whisper,

"I love you, Master. I love you so, so much. Here. There. Everywhere. All the time."

He smirked a little and nodded. "And I love you. Now, please, will you help me with this headache?"

* * *

He only shut his eyes for a moment, just to take the throbbing pressure away. When he opened them, his desk was different. The office was different. He blinked, confused, and looked around.

"Bella?"

He rose slowly from his desk, this stylish walnut desk in a room with pale grey walls, broad windows overlooking neatly manicured grass and rolling hills, and white-framed mirrors above low shelves lined with heavy books. Voldemort walked slowly through the space, pinching himself hard beneath his neatly-tailored black robes. He winced at the pain, blinking again. Nothing. He was not dreaming. He was not asleep. He was not hallucinating. This was real.

Suddenly he froze, looking at the mantle and seeing the three-faced clock there. How did the clock get there? How did he get here? Where was Bellatrix? He turned round and saw his face in one of the mirrors on the wall, and his mouth fell open.

This was what he would have looked like in his seventies, he realised, had he not been warped and twisted by making too many Horcruxes. His features were no longer sharp. His skin had been wrinkled by time; his close-cropped white hair had retreated far away from his forehead. But he was still somehow a little bit handsome; he was intimidating now. He had a medallion around his neck with a mark upon it, a Dark Mark, and he fingered it carefully. He looked around again, trying to get his bearings, and he saw a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ on the desk.

 _FORTIETH ANNIVERSARY GALA PLANS UNDERWAY,_ it read. Voldemort gulped hard and steadied himself as he read the headline article.

 _To celebrate his fortieth anniversary as Minister for Life, the Dark Lord is planning a grand celebration to include all of wizarding Britain. Shops in Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, as well as Hogsmeade and other wizarding villages, are keen to get in on the festivities. Florean Fortescue's has developed a Fortieth Anniversary flavour of ice cream, which Mr Fortescue says blends the Dark Lady's favourite flavour with -_

"Master!"

He set the newspaper down at the sound of Bellatrix's voice. His heart began to thud in his now ancient chest, and his headache was worse than ever as he followed the sound out into the corridor. It was stylish out here, too - elegant and modern. Voldemort looked around, noticing the lack of portraits on the walls, and he called,

"Bellatrix?"

"Master, please! Oh, please. Please, you've had another… another… oh, please."

"What? Where are you? Bella?" He peered into what seemed to be a meeting room, but she wasn't in there.

Suddenly he opened his eyes, and he found himself lying on a little mat on the floor of his office in the Ministry of Magic. He rubbed at his eyes, his voice hoarse as he mumbled,

"Bellatrix?"

She was locking his office door, warding it up. She locked the door that led to his office, too, and she cast Silencing and Repelling charms. Voldemort frowned, sitting up slowly, feeling shaky and disoriented. He looked round, and he said firmly,

"It's 1950. I am the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

"Yes," Bellatrix nodded. "I came back from the apothecary, and you were slumped in your chair, muttering things about clocks on mantles, about mirrors, calling for me. Master… are you all right? I can't go get you any Eliqui Elixir right this minute. We need to get you home."

"Home. Yes. Probably for the best." Voldemort touched his head and pointed at his desk. "Do me a favour. Write the Minister a letter about Anthony Moreno. Just let her know what's happened. It's protocol. Send it as an interdepartmental memo. Then let them know next door that I'm ill and we're going home for the day, and… let's get out of here. I need to rest."

"What did you see, Master? Where were you?" she asked, and he scoffed a little as he admitted,

"I think I saw the man I'm supposed to be right now, but… well, I refuse to let it matter. Let's go home."

 **Author's Note: Uh-oh. The last time Voldemort had one of these fainting episodes, it was right before he time traveled. :-/ And poor Moreno, being a dang idiot saving everybody and drowning in the process. Who's up for one last chapter of caretaking, loving Bellamort fluff in this storyverse? Ack, I'm tearing up just thinking about ending this story! Eek! Thank you so much to everyone who's read this far and continues to read and review as we near the end here!**


	59. Chapter 59

**Author's Note: Don't be mad, but this is the last chapter of the story. This just** _ **is**_ **the end of the story, and so… here we go. *cries to self***

He looked like he was dying.

She'd dosed him up with Eloqui Elixir, and she'd propped him up on some pillows, and she'd stripped him down to one of the crisp white shirts she'd bought him the Christmas before and his underwear and had pulled blankets around him. But the colour had gone from his face, and there were dark circles under his eyes, and Bellatrix could swear that she saw a little hint of burgundy in his eyes, a little thread of grey in his hair.

"Master," she murmured, pulling herself up onto the white bed beside him, "can I get you anything? Water? A biscuit to eat? Anything?"

"I just want you," he said, a little pathetically. He smiled a little at her and rubbed between her shoulder blades, and he told her, "You look tired."

If she was honest, she felt like she hadn't slept for days. She felt like if she put her head on a pillow, she'd sleep for twelve hours without dreaming. She wasn't certain why she was so fatigued. But she shook her head, far too worried about Voldemort to care about being sleepy, and she insisted,

"I'm fine, Master."

"I have a song stuck in my head," he informed her, and as she arranged herself beside him, facing him, she asked,

"Is it 'Nessun Dorma'? That piece that played in the orphanage when you were little?"

"No." He shook his head and shut his eyes, and he hummed a little tune, a two-step that Bellatrix had never heard before. She watched his throat bob, and he said softly, "Until the day I die, I shall never forget that dance."

"Dance?" Bellatrix was confused, but he reached for her left hand, dragged his thumb over the engagement ring he'd given her, and he whispered,

"Only once. Just one song. That's all I ever got from you there."

"Oh. My twenty-first birthday party, the first time round for you, you mean." Bellatrix caressed his hand with her thumb, and he said,

"Sometimes, I'd stare at this damned ring, once you were married to Rodolphus, and I would wonder what you would have looked like dancing with me on our wedding day. And then I'd scold myself, knowing I'd never find out. Only, I did find out. In Monte Carlo. And you looked beautiful, Bellatrix."

Her eyes burned and boiled over suddenly. She wasn't sure why she was crying, but something inside of her was filling up with dread, and she found herself whispering,

"Please don't leave me."

"I have no intention of leaving you," he said firmly, "but I do feel myself going. Detaching. Floating away a little. And I do feel old. So very old."

"No, Master." Bellatrix shook her head fiercely. She clutched his hand to her chest, bent to kiss him hard on the lips, and then met his eyes and shook her head again. "No. You are here. And we are together. And look at you! Young and vibrant. Let's talk about something else. Have you ever considered that Lucius Malfoy, and by extension Draco, might have been descended from Yaxley and not Abraxas? Maybe they weren't Malfoys at all! Have you thought about that?"

Voldemort smirked weakly and brought Bellatrix's knuckles to his lips. He seemed as though he were trying not to be condescending as he whispered,

"I think my mind is rather beyond Abraxas' sperm count, Bellatrix."

She laughed despite herself, and she lay down beside him, complaining softly,

"I'm tired. I'm so tired."

"Please come with me," he begged her. He tangled his fingers into her hair, twining them a little, and he sounded distant as he told her, "You used to like when I played with your hair."

"I still do," she nodded. She curled up against him, listening to his heart beating slowly inside his chest, and she asked him, "Should we use the clock on the mantle?"

"No," he mumbled confidently, sounding more than a little drowsy. "I think we'll wake up together. Whether it's in 1911, or 2002, or dead. When our eyes open, you'll be with me. I just know that to be true. Tell me, Bellatrix. What's your favourite ice cream flavour?"

She smiled up at him, her head feeling heavy, and she reminded him, "Honey and sea salt."

He nodded slightly and turned his head toward her. "Florean Fortescue will use it to make a commemorative ice cream, something to mark forty years of me being Minister for Life."

Realisation came over Bellatrix, and she sighed as she curled her fingers around the clock pendant she wore. "That's where you went? That's what you saw?"

"Yes," he whispered. "I took their ladder. And you were with me. You had to have been, if they made an ice cream for you."

She smiled a little and looked around the flat. She was more sleepy than ever now. She should feel afraid. Her heart was slowing, not speeding up like it usually did with fear. She should be breathing quickly, but instead her breaths were laboured and heavy. This felt like dying, like a slow and easy sinking, like dissolving. But she wasn't afraid. Should she be afraid?

"Master?" she turned to meet his eyes again, but he had shut them. His chest was rising and falling very slowly now, and she tucked herself up beside him and closed her eyes. She felt his fingers, not shaking one little bit, settle into her hair. Just before she slipped off into sleep, she heard a distant voice whisper,

"You used to like when I did this…"

* * *

" _Hyanosssiath kyanossss…_ "

Lord Voldemort slowly opened his eyes and smiled a little, looking around the clean, grey and white office he'd first encountered in his vision. Nagini was curled up on the rug in the middle of the office, and as he rose, he hissed at her in Parseltongue,

" _Well. Long time, no see. How did you get here?"_

" _It is complicated, Master, as is time,"_ she hissed back. " _A long way through time and space have I come to you. To her._ "

Voldemort glanced at his desk and saw the issue there about the fortieth anniversary gala, about Florean Fortescue's making an ice cream honouring the Dark Lady's preferences. He sighed a little and flicked his eyes to the mirror on the wall, recognising himself even through the lines and the grey-white hair. He swallowed hard and hissed at Nagini,

" _Where is she?_ "

Nagini slithered over toward the door, and for a brief moment, Voldemort was vaguely certain that snakes could smirk, for Nagini looked awfully satisfied. Suddenly he heard the patter of boot steps in the corridor outside, and he heard a trembling voice call,

"Master? My Lord?"

"I'm in here, Bella." He couldn't help himself from walking quickly toward her then, and he froze when she appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were overflowing with tears, and she laughed almost maniacally as she exclaimed joyfully,

"We're _old!_ "

He laughed back and shrugged. "Yes. We are."

"Nagini!" Bellatrix, who, like Voldemort, had aged the way humans were meant to do, crouched down. Her once black curls had greyed, and her face had wrinkled, but as she stood creakily from giving Nagini some affection, Voldemort told her very honestly,

"You are absolutely beautiful."

She smiled crookedly and admitted, "Not as bad as I'd always feared. And the age gap's gone, so there's that. It does seem as though I've mentally missed half a century of my life, but… well… it is what it is. I shall just have to live to be two hundred, like Norah Abbott did."

Nagini slithered across the office and curled herself up around something Voldemort hadn't noticed - a stylish ladder of shiny chrome.

" _She made this for you as a birthday gift ten years ago,"_ Nagini hissed in Parseltongue. " _A symbol, she said then. To remind you. You climbed their ladder, and now it is yours._ "

"What did she say?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort felt his heart race a little as he smiled at her face, which had aged so very gracefully, and said,

"She was just… confirming a prophecy. Now. Let's you and I go and explore my empire, shall we, My Lady?"

He held out his hand to her, and as she took it, he noticed that she was still wearing the diamond ring he'd put on her, and he nodded, and all was well.

THE END -

 **Author's Note: Whew! What an adventure this story has been to write, and clocking in at over 110,000 words in exactly a month, it's been a doozy, too. I am so incredibly grateful for the readership, the encouragement, and the feedback. It has meant more than I can say.**

 **I do hope that if you're a Bellamort fan, you will join me on my next adventure, which is a story that will be novel-length and will begin tonight or tomorrow. Entitled** _ **Her Cruel and Angry Bones**_ **, this will be a story where Bellatrix is expelled from Hogwarts (and brought before the Wizengamot) for using the Cruciatus Curse against a fellow student. When her parents kick her out of the house for shaming the family, Lord Voldemort decides to take this cruel young witch under his wing as a p** **rotégé, and things go very wrong very quickly. :}**

 **Thank you again so very much for reading this story. Hope to see you at** _ **Her Cruel and Angry Bones.**_ **Please do let me know what you thought of this one!**


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